THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

RIVERSIDE 

IN  MEMORY  OF 

Professor  Henry  J.  Quayle 


PRESENTED  BY 

Mrs  Fannie  Q.  Paul 

Mrs  Annie  Q.  Hadley 

Mrs  Elizabeth  Q.  Flowers 


AN  ORDEAL  OF 
"      HONOR 


BY 

ANTHONY   PRYDE 


Author  of 

"MARQUERAY'S    DUEL,"    "JENNY 
ESSENDEN,"    AND    "NIGHTFALL" 


NEW  YORK 

ROBERT  M.  McBRIDE  &  COMPANY 
1922 


T  R  6  £  4-5 
/.  4  3  P"'7 


Printed  in  the 

United  States  of  America 

Second  Printing,  February,  1922 

Third  Printing,  March,  1922 


Published  J922. 


AN   OEDEAL   OF   HONOE 


AN  ORDEAL  OF  HONOR 


IT  was  nine  o'clock  of  a  June  evening,  and  the  chalky 
road  that  leads  from  Amesbury  to  Stanton  Mere  was 
well-nigh  deserted.  The  red  sun  had  gone  down  into  a 
bank  of  vapor;  a  brown  twilight  was  creeping  on  even 
over  the  uplands,  while  in  the  folds  and  dimples  of  the 
Plain  it  was  already  dark.  From  some  way  off  came  the 
bleating  of  folded  sheep,  grey  as  a  handful  of  pebbles  on 
the  shadowed  hillside.  After  the  heat  of  the  day  there  was 
a  chill  in  the  air,  the  chill  of  dew  showering  down  its  cold 
drops  over  the  parched,  sunburned  turf.  Lying  off  the 
road,  grey  and  dim  and  vast,  the  ageless  altars  of  Stone- 
henge  stood  bare  to  the  evening  wind. 

On  a  bank  by  the  side  of  the  way,  under  the  shelter  of  a 
grove  of  beech  trees,  stood  a  young  girl,  nineteen  or  twenty 
years  of  age,  holding  up  a  bicycle  whose  wrenched  handle 
bars  and  twisted  pedals  told  a  tale  which  was  confirmed  by 
the  streaks  of  chalk  on  her  clothes.  She  wore  a  Norfolk 
blouse  and  short  skirt  of  dark  blue  serge,  and  a  linen  collar 
and  knotted  tie.  In  person  she  was  small,  very  slight,  and 
pale ;  not  pretty  at  a  first  glance,  but  attractive,  on  a  second 
consideration,  for  the  way  she  carried  herself,  and  for  her 
vividly  blue  eyes.  Young  as  she  was,  the  latent  drollery  in 
those  eyes,  together  with  a  certain  finished  trimness  which 
marked  her  dress  and  movements,  saved  her  from  looking 
immature.  She  wheeled  the  bicycle  three  steps  forward 
and  three  back:  it  moved  stiffly,  and  with  a  groaning  of 


8  AN    ORDEAL    OF   HONOR 

wounded  machinery.  Your  true  philosopher,  however, 
looks  for  a  silver  lining  to  every  cloud. 

"Ten  miles  to  walk,  and  it  will  be  dark  in  half  an  hour!" 
she  said  aloud.  "Here's  a  unique  opportunity  for  a 
Romantic  Occurrence:  why  doesn't  some  one  young  and 
charming  appear  and  pick  me  up?" 

As  if  fate  had  overheard  the  challenge,  there  came  at  that 
moment,  from  behind  a  bend  of  the  hills,  the  hoot  of  an 
approaching  car.  The  young  girl  looked  back,  but  with  a 
doubtful  aspect.  "Motoring  people  aren't  nice  except  to 
other  motorists,"  she  reflected ;  "they  always  might  tow  you 
up  a  hill,  and  they  never  do.  Besides,"  with  a  disparaging 
glance  at  the  road,  which  was  little  better  than  a  cart  track, 
' '  the  man  at  this  wheel  must  be  mad. ' ' 

As  she  said  it,  the  motor  swung  round  a  corner  and  came 
into  sight :  a  big  open  car  in  green  and  silver,  the  glare  of 
its  great  lamps  flaming  out  like  searchlights.  Empty  except 
for  the  man  who  drove,  it  came  racing  up  the  hill  at  top 
speed,  with  the  ease  of  power  held  in  restraint,  till  it  was 
abreast  of  the  bicycle :  there  it  halted. 

"I  see  you've  had  a  spill.    Have  you  far  to  go?" 

' '  Nearly  ten  miles. ' ' 

"Where  to,  if  I  may  ask?" 

"Stanton  Mere." 

"I'm  going  there  myself.  Of  course  you'll  let  me  take 
you  on." 

He  stopped  the  car  and  jumped  out.  She  did  not  answer 
at  once,  but  stood  with  her  hands  on  her  handlebars, 
frankly  trying  to  read  his  features.  Divining  her  thought, 
he  stepped  forward  into  the  lamplight  and  faced  her,  bare 
headed  and  smiling.  He  was  a  very  tall  man,  and  had  a 
thick  crop  of  chestnut  hair,  cut  close  to  his  head :  his  eyes 
and  skin  were  brown  as  well — the  latter  a  kind  of  light 
coffee  color — and  he  carried  himself  like  a  soldier. 

"My  name  is  Charles  Auburn,  and  I  assure  you  I'm 
respectable.  I  dined  with  a  bishop  one  day  last  week." 


AN    ORDEAL   OF   HONOR  9 

"Thank  you.    But  what  about  my  bicycle?" 

"It  will  go  in  the  tonneau." 

He  took  it  out  of  her  hands  and  lifted  it  over  the  side  of 
the  car.  "H'm!"  she  thought,  "Monsieur  likes  hia  own 
way."  Monsieur  was  evidently  sure  of  getting  it,  for  his 
next  act  was  to  adjust  the  wind-screen.  "You  aren't 
dressed  for  motoring,  are  you?"  he  said,  with  a  glance  at 
her  light  coat,  "but  you  won't  get  much  wind  here  in  front. 
Jump  in  and  let  me  tuck  you  up." 

"Mad — a  little  mad — but  thoroughly  business-like,"  re 
flected  the  philosopher,  getting  in.  She  was  made  to  sit 
down  while  he  wrapped  the  rug  over  her,  tucking  it  under 
her  chin  and  behind  her  back :  it  was  of  leather,  lined  with 
thick,  soft  fur,  and  comfortably  warm.  Her  companion 
wore  only  a  holland  coat,  very  dirty,  over  his  light  grey 
summer  clothes.  When  the  tucking-up  was  accomplished, 
he  had  to  wrestle  with  a  loose  nut,  and  she  with  an  inclina 
tion  to  laugh.  The  Romantic  Occurrence  was  actually  tak 
ing  place  in  the  very  form  she  had  designed  for  it,  but  the 
romance  seemed,  as  so  often  happens,  to  have  evaporated. 
A  little  jeering  smile  came  to  her  lips:  he  raised  his  head, 
caught  her  in  the  act,  and  smiled  gaily  back.  "^What's  the 
joke  ?"  he  asked. 

"Entirely  against  myself,"  she  replied. 

He  nodded,  pulling  on  his  driving  gauntlets,  and  took 
his  seat  by  her  side.  "By  the  by,  you  aren't  nervous,  are 
you?" 

" Oh  no,  not  at  all." 

She  soon  found  that  it  was  as  well,  for  he  was1  not  a 
cautious  driver.  Over  ruts,  over  stones,  they  topped  the 
hill  and  fled  along  the  level  as  if  the  Prince  of  the  Powers 
of  the  Air  were  at  their  heels.  For  some  minutes  the 
strong  rush  of  the  car  and  the  shriek  of  the  cloven  wind 
fascinated  her.  into  silence,  but  when  she  realized  that  they 
were  not  doomed  to  instant  perdition,  she  began  to  think 
of  explanations. 


10  AN   ORDEAL    OF   HONOR 

"This  is  very  good  of  you.  I  thought  I  should  have  to 
spend  the  night  on  the  Plain.  I  hope  my  bicycle  won't 
make  your  cushions  muddy." 

"Why?  I  shan't  have  to  clean  them.  They  will  provide 
Piers  with  an  hour's  innocent  recreation.  He  valets  me 
and  the  car,  and  he  gets  very  sick  because  I  don't  give  him 
enough  to  do." 

"Oh,  you  have  a  valet,  do  you?  H'm.  You  won't  stay 
in  Stanton  Mere." 

"Why  not?" 

She  laughed,  but  declined  to  explain.  "He  certainly  is 
unconventional,"  she  reflected,  "but  I  mustn't  play  up  to 
him."  Aloud  she  said,  "I've  had  a  chapter  of  accidents. 
I  ought  to  have  been  home  by  eight,  but  my  tire  burst  just 
as  I  rode  out  of  Amesbury,  and  I  had  to  go  back  and  get 
it  mended.  They  hadn  't  one  to  fit,  so  they  put  on  a  rubber 
bandage,  and  bound  me  over  not  to  use  the  front  brake. 
But  as  I  rode  down  the  hill  I  became  so  absorbed  in  the 
Ancient  Britons " 

"You  don't  live  at  Stanton  Mere,  then?" 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  was  meditating  about  summei 
clothes." 

"Ah!  don't  edit  yourself,  I  beg,"  said  Auburn,  laugh 
ing.  "I'm  sure  you  can  afford  to  be  frank." 

He  turned  to  look  down  at  her,  "as  if  I  were  an  indi 
vidual  and  not  a  genus,"  she  reflected  with  satisfaction. 
"Come,  we're  getting  on!"  By  which  she  meant  that  he 
was  beginning  to  take  an  impression  of  her  small,  keen, 
vivid  individuality — an  individuality  which  had  for  some 
years  reigned  unchallenged  over  a  houseful  of  elder 
brothers.  "You  weren't  hurt?"  said  Auburn. 

"No,  I  came  off  on  the  grass:  but  the  bicycle  was  very 
sorry  for  itself.  I  should  certainly  have  had  to  lead  it 
home." 

"I'm  glad  I  found  you." 

"So  am  I,"  said  she.   "It's  bad  enough  as  it  is,  for  we've 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  11 

some  one  coming  to  supper,  and  there  won't  be  any  supper 
till  I'm  there  to  cook  it.  I  soon  shall  be,  though,  at  this 
rate.  How  fast  are  we  going?" 

"Oh,  scarcely  twenty-five,"  said  Auburn  carelessly; 
"it's  such  a  bad  road.  Fine  country,  though,  isn't  it?" 

It  was  fine  country:  growing  wilder  and  wilder  with 
every  mile  as  they  raced  along  between  the  flying  shadows. 
It  was  by  now  almost  as  dark  as  a  June  night  can  be,  and 
they  could  see  nothing  in  detail  of  the  hills  beyond  their 
giant  contours,  standing  out  from  each  other  and  from  the 
dimness  of  the  sky  in  nameless  shades  of  gloom.  Bathed  in 
the  white  light  of  the  great  lamps,  the  chalky  road  stretched 
away  ahead  of  them,  bordered  by  the  close  black  sward  of 
the  moor:  but  near  at  hand  the  turf  was  still  pale  with  a 
multitude  of  early  flowers,  out  of  which  the  swarthy  squat 
trees  of  juniper  started  up,  like  lean  dwarfs  dancing.  "Yes, 
it  is  fine  country,"  Auburn  repeated.  "I  like  this  place." 

"And  so  do  I." 

"Do  you  know  it  well?" 

"I  was  born  in  Stanton  Mere." 

"And  you've  lived  there  all  your  life?" 

"I've  been  away  on  visits." 

Auburn  looked  at  her  for  a  long  moment,  making — who 
knows  what  comparisons  between  her  life  and  his  own? 
"Ah  well,"  he  said,  "you're  lucky." 

"Do  you  think  so?" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "I  should  hang  myself  in 
six  months,  but  then  I'm  used  to  knocking  about.  I've 
never  had  an  abiding  city  since  I  went  down  from  Cam 
bridge.  But  your  sort  of  life  is  the  right  thing  for  a 
woman,  isn't  it?" 

"Oh  certainly,  for  a  nice  woman,"  assented  his  com 
panion  :  and  she  went  on  fluently  and  with  a  curious  sing 
song  intonation:  "Because  of  course  home  is  the  woman's 
sphere,  and  it  is  only  by  devoting  herself  to  her  domestic 


12  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

duties  and  the  simple  everyday  requirements  of  family  life 
that  she  can  hope  to  attain  real  and  lasting  happiness." 

"Here  endeth  the  first  lesson.  It's  all  very  well  for  you 
to  scoff,  young  lady,  but  I'm  beginning  to  feel  desperately 
inclined  to  go  back  to  town — unless  you  're  able  to  reassure 
me.  If  the  Carminow  family  is  half  as  Puritanical  as  the 
Carminow  landscape,  what  the  dickens  shall  I  do  in  that 
galley?" 

"The  who?" 

"Mr.  Carminow  and  his  sons.    Your  vicar." 

"Do  you  know  the  Carminows?" 

* '  I  have  that  pleasure.    Why  not  ? ' ' 

"Oh  no,  why,"  she  answered,  though  the  flatness-  of  her 
voice  betrayed  her  extreme  surprise,  "it's  only  the  small- 
ness  of  the  world.  Of  course  I  know  all  the  boys,  and  have 
done  for  ever  so  long.  But  why  do  you  want  reassuring  ? ' ' 

"Merely  because  I  had  meant  to  ask  them  to  put  me  up 
for  a  night  on  my  way  down  into  Hampshire,  and  I  'm  be 
ginning  to  wonder  what  sort  of  reception  I  shall  get.  If 
I'd  known  what  this  place  was  like  I'd  have  sent  a  wire — 
no,  a  letter — to  say  I  was  coming.  Will  they  be  civil  to  me, 
do  you  think?" 

* '  Did — did  anybody  ask  you  ? ' ' 

Auburn  smiled:  the  smile  widened  irresistibly  into  a 
laugh.  "Unsophisticated  as  I  may  appear,  I  should  hardly 
plant  myself  upon  strangers  without  some  sort  of  invita 
tion.  I  met  Caron  and  Eoden  Carminow  in  Paris,  and  they 
told  me  I  might  look  in  upon  them  next  time  I  was  down 
their  way.  So  I  took  them  at  their  word." 

"You  met  them  in  Paris?  You — you  were  the  Mr. 
Auburn  they  met  in  Paris?  Of  course,  that  accounts  for 
it !  I  thought  your  name  sounded  familiar.  Oh,  I  've  heard 
them  speak  of  you!  Why,  you  were  at  Moussin's,  weren't 
you?  You've  been  half  over  the  world?" 

"And  back  again,"  said  Auburn,  still  laughing,  "and 
I've  come  to  the  conclusion  that  one  half  is  very  like  the 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  13 

other.  Apparently  you  don't  agree  with  me,  but  may  I 
ask  what  on  earth  there  is  to  be  so  keen  about  ? ' ' 

" Everything  on  earth,"  she  retorted  with  spirit,  "that's 
the  point  of  it:  but  I  suppose  one  can't  expect  a  man  to 
admit  he  isn't  bored.  Oh,  what  wouldn't  I  give — what 
wouldn't  I  give  to  go  where  you've  been?" 

"You  will  some  day,"  said  Auburn  idly.  Her  face  was 
lit  and  transfigured  with  excitement,  and  her  eyes  were  as 
blue  as  steel:  and  her  companion,  who  concealed  beneath 
his  languid  airs  a  remarkable  taste  and  talent  for  getting 
into  mischief,  felt  himself  drawn  towards  her — incredible 
though  it  seemed — as  a  kindred  spirit.  Auburn  at  thirty- 
five  preserved  towards  most  women  the  attitude  of  the 
typical  schoolboy,  detached,  incurious,  tinged  with 
suspicion:  his  relations  with  them  had  been  of  the  gayest 
and  most  transitory  type.  He  believed  it  to  be  a  fact  that 
no  man  can  ever  hope  to  understand  a  woman,  and  that 
friendship  between  man  and  woman  is  an  impossibility, 
and  that  no  woman  likes  to  hear  another  woman  praised. 
He  disliked  the  veiled  language,  the  restraint  of  manners 
imposed  upon  him  by  their  presence.  As  only  son  and  a 
wanderer  born,  he  had  never  been  thrown  into  close  rela 
tions  with  women  of  his  own  class,  and  although  he  had  had, 
as  he  phrased  it,  to  play  the  game  of  social  life  from  time  to 
time  in  most  of  the  capitals  of  Europe,  he  much  preferred 
to  get  away  from  salon  to  smoking-room,  where  he  could  do 
as  he  liked  and  say  what  he  liked,  and  indulge  a  native 
genius  for  running  up  intimacies  without  fear  of  an  emo 
tional  outbreak.  Here,  however,  was  a  spirit  that  appealed 
to  him  as  a  counterpart  of  his  own,  an  adventurous,  gay, 
open-air  temperament,  keen  in  action,  indifferent  to  ques 
tions  of  sex.  He  liked  her  for  her  keenness,  and  liked  her 
no  less  when  a  moment  later  she  was  laughing  at  herself. 

"Dear,  dear,  how  artless  of  me!  I'm  so  sorry,  but  you 
shouldn't  talk  travel  to  any  one  of  us — we're  all  rather 
mad  on  that  point,  and,  though  you  mayn't  think  it,  gen- 


14.  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

erally  I'm  the  sanest.  I  was  brought  up  on  proverbs  about 
cutting  your  cloth  and  saving  your  breath,  and  it  isn't  often 
that  my  feelings  run  away  with  me.  So  you're  going  to 
the  Carminows?  That's  very  amusing.  Suppose  they 
haven't  a  room?" 

"Then  I  shall  have  to  fall  back  on  the  coal-cellar." 

"Then  Bernard  will  suspect  you  of  wishing  to  steal  the 
coals. ' ' 

"Then  he  can  have  the  coal-cellar,  and  I'll  have  his 
room." 

"Excellent!  I  should  admire  to  see  Bernard's  face 
when  you  explain  your  intentions.  But  don't  you  think 
you'll  be  bored?" 

"Shall  I?  Very  likely.  But  I'm  willing  to  immolate 
myself  on  the  altar  of  friendship.  I'm  rather  fond  of 
Roden,"  Auburn  added,  as  the  car  wheeled  round  a  sharp 
turn  at  a  perilous  angle.  "He's  too  good  for  this  wicked 
world." 

"Too  good  for  this  wicked  world?    Roden?" 

"Don't  you  think  so?" 

She  paused  before  replying,  and  the  management  of  her 
voice  suggested  that  she  could  not  easily  find  words  at  all. 
"I  can't  say  it  ever  struck  me  in  that  light,  but  I  dare  say 
he  is,  if  you  say  so.  Indeed,  I've  often  noticed  that  it's 
always  he  who  goes  to  the  wall.  It's  so  hard  to  look  after 
the  unobtrusively  unselfish.  Besides,  he  would  be  so  an 
noyed  if  you  did. ' ' 

"Oh,  he's  a  saint  of  the  first  water,"  said  Auburn  seri 
ously,  "not  milk  and  water,  either,  which  is  rare  in  saints. 
I  was  with  him  once  in  the  thick  of  a  row — a  Latin  Quarter 
row,  all  long-haired  students  and  anti-clerical  ouvriers — 
and  from  the  scientific  way  he  hit  out  at  them  you  'd  never 
have  dreamed  he  was  in  the  British  army.  All  the  same, 
I've  seen  him — er — change  the  conversation  at  Moussin's. 
"What  are  the  other  Carminows  like'"  It  had  evidently 


15 

occurred  to  the  speaker  that  he  would  do  well  to  change  the 
conversation  himself. 

"Caron  you  know.  He  generally  gets  on  better  with 
women  than  he  does  with  men,  because  they  don't  resent 
his  personalities.  Bernard  I  don't  expect  you'll  like.  No 
body  ever  does.  He's  reliable,  but  unpleasant." 

" Delightful  combination!    I  hate  reliable  people." 

"Dickie  is  a  dear  donkey.  Mr.  Carminow  is  very  nice- 
looking  and  has  charming  manners — the  best  manners  of 
the  family:  I  dare  say  you'll  call  the  others  provincial, 
but  not  him.  He's  keen  on  art,  and  never  talks  shop." 

"Keally?    I  thought  he  was  rather  a  bad  lot." 

"You  thought  whatl" 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  I  forgot  he  was  probably  a  friend  of 
yours,"  Auburn  apologized  humbly.  "But  when  I  was  in 
Abyssinia  last  autumn  I  met  a  man  who  said  he'd  been  at 
Oxford  with  an  Alwyn  Carminow  who  was  a  trifle  gay,  and 
this  chap  ranged  himself  afterwards  and  turned  into  a 
model  parson.  Probably  it  wasn't  the  same  man." 

"He  might  have  been  wild  at  Oxford.    He  isn't  now." 

Her  wrath  was  still  visibly  hot  within  her,  and  Auburn 
decided  to  change  the  conversation  again.  "And  the  child 
—what's  she  like?" 

"The  who?" 

"The  child — the  little  girl.  Eoden  said  there  was  a  little 
girl.  He  described  her  as  plain  but  intelligent,"  Auburn 
continued,  blind  for  his  sins  to  the  startled  expression  of 
his  companion,  and  her  unquenchable  desire  to  laugh. 
"But  that  may  have  been  fraternal  partiality.  You  might 
tell  me  what  she's  like,  and  whether  I  shall  be  expected  to 
kiss  her:  I  always  want  to  have  a  carte  du  pays  before 
going  into  a  strange  house." 

"I  would  if  I  were  you,  another  time." 

Auburn  awoke — too  late,  as  usual — to  his  own  immeas 
urable  indiscretion.  "For  heaven's  sake  tell  me  what  you 
mean!" 


16  AN   ORDEAL    OF   HONOR 

There  came  a  glint  of  pure  wickedness  into  his  com 
panion's  great  infantile  blue  eyes  as  she  raised  them  to 
his  horrified  face.  "I  am  afraid  she  is  rather  plain,"  she 
said  with  tolerable  steadiness :  then  giving  way  altogether — 
"but  nobody  will  expect  you — ha  ha!  Oh,  I  am  so  sorry  1 
It  was  your  fault,  you  know!" 


II. 


STANTON  MERE  was  a  considerable  village  lying 
under  the  knees  of  the  hills  an  hour's  drive  west  of 
Salisbury.  The  tall,  spired  church  occupied  a  triangular 
patch  of  greensward  in  the  middle  of  the  High  Street,  and 
the  Vicarage,  conveniently  near  at  hand,  lay  back  behind 
a  grove  of  chestnuts,  the  smoke  of  its  red  chimneys  going 
up  under  the  grassy  cliffs  that  wall  the  crannies  of  the 
Plain.  It  was  a  large,  rambling  house,  full  of  open  win 
dows  and  shabby  furniture:  "so  Bohemian,"  as  Mabel 
Blandford  remarked:  "no  proper  drawing-room,  and  the 
most  indelicate  undraped  statues  wherever  you  turn  your 
eyes."  These  were  clay  models  from  Caron's  versatile 
hand. 

On  the  night  of  Auburn's  arrival  the  family  were  gath 
ered  in  the  studio,  a  large,  light  room  facing  west  and  north, 
and  used  by  Caron  for  painting  and  by  the  others  for  read 
ing,  smoking,  and  strumming  on  the  piano.  It  was  strewn 
with  books,  music,  unfinished  canvasses,  plaster  casts,  and 
all  the  paraphernalia  of  the  arts:  in  one  corner  stood  an 
articulated  skeleton  clad  in  a  Turkish  fez  and  green  muslin 
breeches:  the  lid  of  the  grand  piano  supported  a  work- 
basket  full  of  socks,  a  hunting-crop,  and  The  King's  Mirror, 
open  face  downwards.  The  walls  were  distempered  white 
and  decorated  with  bold  designs  in  charcoal :  on  one  a  frieze 
representing  Mr.  Carminow  in  clerical  dress  dancing  with 
the  Nymphs  and  Graces,  on  another  a  collection  of  profile 
heads  of  the  family  and  all  their  friends  at  varying  ages. 
Through  the  tall  western  windows,  open  down  to  the 
ground,  came  in  the  soft  gloom  of  the  night,  the  smell  of 

17 


18  AN    ORDEAL    OF   HONOR 

moorland  turf  and  of  lemon-thyme  and  heliotrope  in  the 
garden. 

Mr.  Carminow  stood  by  the  window :  a  tall,  slender  man, 
with  an  oval  face,  a  brilliant  skin,  and  the  same  striking 
blue  eyes  that  shone  through  Dodo's  curling  lashes. 
Younger  son  of  a  younger  son,  and  sent  to  Oxford  en  route 
for  a  family  living,  he  fell  into  a  fast  set,  forsook  Divinity 
for  Art,  ran  heavily  into  debt,  and  was  distinguished  as  one 
of  the  most  charming,  witty,  idle  and  dangerous  men  of  his 
year,  till  one  day  he  looked  into  a  woman's  dark  eyes,  and 
(in  his  usual  headlong  fashion)  remembered  heaven.  It 
was  no  less  than  a  conversion.  Working  day  and  night,  he 
took  his  degree,  renounced  the  family  living  in  favor  of  its 
beloved  and  hard-working  curate,  and  retired  to  Canning 
Town,  where  he  was  shortly  joined  by  his  wife.  Agnes 
Wray  was  a  saint,  a  mystic,  a  dreamer  of  dreams,  had  no 
sense  of  humor,  and  was  devoid  of  practical  intelligence. 
For  six  months  after  his  marriage  Mr.  Carminow  dined 
alternately  on  leg  of  mutton  and  sirloin  of  beef.  She  could 
carry  forests  on  her  back — wrestle  with  the  devil  for  a 
dying  soul — but  she  could  not  crack  the  nut  of  daily  house 
keeping.  Mr.  Carminow  had  to  do  that,  and  satisfy  his 
Oxford  tradesmen  out  of  the  kernel. 

After  three  years  his  health  gave  way,  and  they  left 
Canning  Town  for  Stanton  Mere,  with  a  stipend  of  £250. 
Rates,  bills,  and  babies  kept  them  struggling  in  deep  pov 
erty,  and  shortly  after  Dodo's  birth,  when  the  last  claim 
was  paid  off,  Agnes  Carminow  was  translated  to  the  world 
in  which  she  had  always  held  a  spiritual  citizenship.  Her 
husband  and  children  had  adored  her  and  laughed  at  her : 
she  had  returned  their  adoration  and  smiled  in  a  puzzled 
way  at  their  laughter,  and  her  loss  blackened  their  sun  in 
heaven,  and  reduced  the  weekly  bills  by  a  third.  Mr.  Car 
minow  recovered  of  his  wound  but  slowly :  still  time  did  not 
fail  to  work  its  blessed  miracle,  so  that  after  nineteen  years 
he  could  bear  to  hear  her  name  spoken  without  an  intoler- 


AN    ORDEAL   OF    HONOR  19 

able  pang.  But  her  influence  had  been  incalculable.  Of 
that  early  wildness,  notorious  enough  to  become  a  tradition, 
no  trace  remained,  unless  it  were  in  an  increase  of  wisdom 
and  strong  gentleness  when  Alywn  Carminow  had  to  deal 
with  sin.  She  could  not  make  him  a  saint — he  was  proud, 
hot-tempered,  and  incurably  Bohemian :  but  for  all  that  he 
was  a  model  parish  priest. 

Near  him,  on  a  wide  sofa,  lounged  Caron,  artist  and 
cripple,  the  dark  beauty  of  his  features  marred  by  their 
look  of  reckless  discontent.  He  had  rooms  in  town,  but 
ran  down  pretty  often  from  Saturday  till  Monday.  He 
was  on  the  staff  of  the  Cartoon,  and  his  black-and-white 
work  was  familiar  in  the  illustrated  papers  over  the  signa 
ture  of  "Quasimodo."  Bernard,  the  eldest,  sat  by  the 
hearth  reading  a  work  on  agriculture:  a  tall,  powerfully 
built  man,  with  dark  eyes  and  a  cold  manner.  He  farmed 
the  glebe,  was  agent  to  Lady  Richarda  Harewood,  and 
annoyed  his  family  by  living  at  home.  Dickie,  the  third 
son,  was  at  the  piano,  trying  to  pick  out  a  tune  from  the 
Duke  and  the  Damsel  with  one  finger  high  in  the  treble. 
Dickie  was  in  a  Line  regiment,  where  he  had  learned  little 
except  to  square  his  broad  shoulders  and  take  his  long  limbs 
out  of  other  people's  way.  He  was  so  fortunate  as  to  be 
quartered  on  Salisbury  Plain,  within  riding  distance  of  his 
home,  in  one  of  the  iron  shanties  provided  by  a  paternal 
War  Office  for  the  use  of  unmarried  officers.  He  never  lost 
his  temper  and  never  ran  into  debt,  and  Roden  said  of  him 
that  he  had  more  legs  and  less  brains  than  all  the  rest  of  the 
family  put  together.  The  only  lady  present  was  Miss  Grace 
Trevor,  daughter  of  Sir  George  Trevor,  J.P.,  M.P.,  and 
Dodo's  chief  ally:  a  well-drilled,  boyish-looking  girl  with 
brown  hair  and  keen  grey  eyes,  who  wore  white  serge  and  a 
Panama  hat,  and  carried  a  tennis  racquet  across  her  knees. 

"Look  here,  you  people,"  she  was  saying,  "I  believe 
you've  beguiled  me  in  here  under  false  pretenses.  It's 
getting  awfully  late !  I  shall  go  home." 


*0  AN    ORDEAL    OF   HONOR 

"Tighten  your  waist-belt,"  suggested  Caron;  "it  relieves 
the  pangs  of  hunger — if  you  can,  that  is." 

"Shall  I  go  and  forage?"  Dickie  inquired.  "I  know 
where  the  beer  is,  anyhow." 

"I  wish,"  said  Mr.  Carminow  mournfully,  "these  domes 
tic  contretemps  were  not  arranged  by  Providence  always  to 
coincide  with  Aline 's  evening  out."  Aline  was  the  maid-of- 
all-work,  Brought  home  from  a  summer  holiday  in  the 
Ardennes.  "My  dear  children,  listen!  It's  striking  nine 
by  the  church  clock. ' ' 

Bernard  raised  his  head.  "That  means  ten  past  by  sta 
tion  time.  I  expect  she  has  met  with  an  accident.  The 
roads  over  the  Plain  are  in  bad  condition,  and  she  prides 
herself  on  riding  down  every  hill." 

Bernard's  contribution  to  the  discussion  was  received,  as 
not  infrequently  happened,  in  a  blank  silence.  It  was 
Grace  who  first  gathered  spirit  to  retort. 

' '  What  rot,  Bernard !  She  rides  better  than  you  do,  any 
how."  Bernard  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  retired  into 
his  book.  "I  expect  she's  had  a  puncture  and  is  wheeling 
her  bike."  With  their  usual  happy-go-lucky  optimism, 
everybody  looked  relieved.  "Now  if  I  go  home,  one  of  you 
might  see  me  back,  and  trot  on  to  meet  her. ' ' 

This  proposal  was  received  without  enthusiasm.  "Oh, 
she'll  turn  up  all  right,"  said  Caron  comfortably.  "My 
dear  girl,  you  were  asked  to  supper  and  to  supper  you'll 
stay." 

"How  can  I  stay  to  supper  when  there  isn't  any  supper 
to  stay  to?"  Grace  demanded,  not  unreasonably.  "You  see 
we  dine  at  seven,  and  I  really  am  hungry.  I  've  been  to  the 
Blandfords'  to  tea,  and  you  know  the  sort  of  sandwiches 
you  get  there. ' ' 

"Too,  too  well,"  Mr.  Carminow  assured  her.  "But  you 
might  take  two  at  a  time. ' ' 

' '  I  do, ' '  said  Grace,  ' '  but  I  should  like  to  take  forty-two. 
I  know  the  Blandfords  think  it's  unladylike  to  be  hungry. 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  21 

Lucky  for  me  the  governor's  a  J.P.,  and  other  frills,"  she 
added ;  "if  he  weren't,  Mabel  Blandford  wouldn't  know  me. 
I  do  my  little  best  to  shock  her."  She  leaned  forward 
and  tapped  Bernard  on  the  shoulder  with  her  racquet. 
"Bernie !  d'you  know  you're  sitting  on  a  basket  of  cherries? 
— Thank  you.  Have  some,  anybody  ? ' ' 

' '  Tell  about  the  great  Mabel, ' '  said  Caron  from  his  sofa. 
"Is  she  going  strong?  Last  time  I  saw  her  she  was  wal 
lowing  in  the  ditch  with  her  bicycle,  and  Val  Attwood  with 
his  new  Panhard  was  climbing  up  the  bank  in  his  anxiety 
to  reassure  her." 

' '  She  always  gets  off  for  a  motor, ' '  said  Miss  Trevor.  ' '  I 
don't,  but  then  I  wear — I  don't  wear  long  flounced  petti 
coats,  like  she  does.  What  have  you  been  telling  her  about 
Paris,  Car?  She  said  she  was  afraid  you  were  a  very  dis 
sipated  young  fellow. ' ' 

Caron  grinned.  "I  only  told  her  about  the  supper  in 
Auburn's  rooms,  after  the  first  night  of  Une  Nuit,  when  the 
Daguesseau  came  in  her  stage  robes,  and  Remain  crowned 
her  with  olive  leaves.  It  was  good  fun,  that  supper,"  he 
added,  clasping  his  hands  behind  his  head,  while  he  buried 
his  crooked  shoulders  between  two  cushions.  "I  must  say 
I  liked  Charles  Auburn.  He  was  rather  mad,  but  quite 
nice.  I  wish  he'd  come  down  here,  as  he  talked  of  doing." 

"Perhaps  he  will." 

Caron  shook  his  head.  "Not  he!  It  was  only  a  way 
side  episode  to  him.  He  knows  half  Paris.  Hullo,  here 
comes  Roden!  Your  hat's  crooked,  Miss  Trevor." 

Grace  set  it  straight  mechanically,  then  looked  annoyed, 
as  the  last  member  of  the  family  stepped  in  through  the  tall 
window :  a  slim,  fair,  tired-looking  young  man,  dressed  in  a 
rough  coat  and  riding-breeches,  and  carrying  his  cap.  He 
smiled  at  Grace,  into  whose  cheeks  the  color  had  sprung,  and 
sank  with  an  air  of  fatigue  into  the  nearest  chair.  "Hullo, 
Gracey,  eating  still  ?" 

Lieutenant  Roden  Canninow,  R.E.,  had  returned  in  the 


22  AN    ORDEAL    OF   HONOR 

previous  March,  from  two  years'  service  in  India,  and  was 
at  present  enjoying  six  months'  leave.  He  had  brought 
home  with  him  a  touch  of  fever,  a  medal  obtained  in  Tibet 
and  kept  in  his  collar  drawer,  and  an  unlimited  capacity 
for  doing  nothing,  which  led  him  now  to  suggest  that  Dickie 
had  better  go  and  look  after  his  horse.  Dickie  departed  un 
murmuring;  Bernard  also,  after  one  angry,  quiet  glance 
from  Miss  Trevor  to  his  brother,  shut  his  book  and  went  out, 
and  Roden's  grey  eyes  roved  round  the  room  inquiringly. 
"Where's  the  Babe?" 

No  one  spoke  for  a  moment.  At  length  Mr.  Carminow, 
beginning  to  look  uncomfortable  again,  gave  the  necessary 
explanation,  to  which  Roden  listened  in  silence,  pulling  at 
his  fair  moustache.  Finally,  he  dragged  himself  to  his  feet. 
"Why,  where  are  you  off  to  now?"  said  Mr.  Carminow. 

"Ill  stroll  up  the  road  to  meet  her." 

"But,  my  boy,  you'll  be  so  tired." 

Roden  glanced  at  the  watch  on  his  wrist.  "It's  five-and- 
twenty  past  nine.  I  '11  see  you  home,  Grace,  shall  I  ?  I  'm 
very  sorry  there's  nothing  to  eat."  Miss  Trevor's  face  was 
eloquent  of  approval :  there  were  times  when  the  Carminow 
insouciance  irritated  her,  as  she  divined  that  it  was  now  irri 
tating  Roden.  She  jumped  up. 

"All  right,  let's  go " 

"By  Jove,"  said  Caron,  starting  to  his  feet,  "there's  a 
car  coming  up  the  avenue!" 

"Oh,  dear  me,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Carminow,  "I  hope 
there's  nothing  wrong!" 

Caron  hurried  out  through  the  window,  and  Mr.  Car 
minow  followed,  dropping  his  hand  on  his  son's  shoulder,  a 
characteristic  action :  for  he  could  never  face  trouble  alone. 
Roden  and  Grace  went  into  the  hall.  A  moment  later  they 
heard  a  car  draw  up,  and  then,  to  their  great  relief,  Dodo's 
voice  in  cheerful  conversation.  As  Roden  opened  the  door 
she  ran  up  the  steps,  while  behind  her  they  saw  the  dark 
outline  of  the  car,  and  the  glow  of  its  burning  eyes.  A  smile 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  23 

lingered  round  her  lips,  as  if  she  were  turning  over  a  good 
joke  in  her  own  mind :  at  sight  of  Roden  this  gave  way  to  a 
subdued  apologetic  air. 

' '  Hullo,  Dodo,  there  you  are !  What  on  earth  have  you 
been  up  to  ?  Are  you  hurt  ? ' ' 

"No.  I'm  awfully  sorry.  I've  only  fallen  off  my 
bicycle." 

"I  wish  to  heaven  you  wouldn't  fall  off  your  bicycle! 
Do  you  know  it's  nearly  half -past  nine!  I  thought  you 
were  killed ! ' ' 

* '  I  'm  awfully  sorry,  Roddy !  I  will  be  next  time— on  my 
honor,  I  will!" 

"Idiot!"  said  Roden  with  brotherly  simplicity.  "Come 
along  in  now  and  get  the  supper.  We're  all  famishing. 

"Are  you  famishing,  Gracie?  I  really  couldn't  help  it. 
It  11  be  ready  in  five  minutes.  There's  pea  soup,  and  jelly, 
and  cold  beef,  and  fruit,  and  I'm  going  to  make  an  ome 
lette,"  Dodo  declared,  throwing  down  her  coat  and  hat  and 
rolling  up  her  sleeves.  "Cut  and  lay  the  table,  Roddy, 
there 's  a  darling !  Oh,  and  we'll  have  clean  table  napkins. " 

Roden  raised  his  eyebrows.    "These  preparations!" 

"Who  brought  you  home?"  asked  Grace.  "Eric  Bland- 
ford?" 

Dodo  shook  her  head  with  a  smile  of  irrepressible  glee. 
"Somebody  a  good  deal  more  interesting  than  the  fair- 
haired  Eric." 

"The  field  is  still  rather  wide,"  remarked  Roden. 

"A  friend  of  yours,  Roddy,  and  Caron's.  I've  never 
seen  him  before." 

"I  guess,"  said  Grace. 

Dodo  gazed  at  her,  startled.  "Nonsense,  you  couldn't 
possibly!  It's  Mr.  Auburn,  Roddy,  that  you  met  in  Paris. 
He's  going  down  to  stay  with  an  old  friend  in  Hampshire; 
and  he  wants  us  to  put  him  up  for  the  night." 

"And  are  you  going  to?" 

There  was  something  quick  and  distrustful   in   Grace 


24  AN    ORDEAL    OF   HONOR 

Trevor's  tone,  which  made  both  brother  and  sister  look  up 
in  surprise. 

"Going  to?  I  should  think  so!"  cried  Roden.  "Where 
is  he — out  in  the  car?" 

"It's  all  right — father  and  Caron  are  with  him.  He's 
going  to  stable  it  in  the  coach-house.  What's  wrong, 
Grade?" 

"Nothing.    Is  he  related  to  Sir  Charles  Auburn?" 

' '  His  son,  I  believe, ' '  said  Roden.    * '  Why  ? ' ' 

"Did  you  ever  hear  anything  about  Sir  Charles?" 

"Against  him,  do  you  mean?  Not  that  I  remember. 
What's  he  done?" 

"I  was  only  wondering,"  Grace  said,  drawing  her  fingers 
slowly  to  and  fro  across  the  strings  of  her  racquet.  ' '  Father 
used  to  know  Sir  Charles  when  he  was  a  young  man.  I 
wondered  whether  your  Charles  was  any  relation." 

"Why,  though?"  asked  Roden  with  lively  curiosity. 
"Did  he  murder  anybody?" 

"I  think  not  that  exactly." 

"Do  you  mean  that  he  is  a  very  bad  lot?" 

Grace  nodded  slowly,  once  or  twice.  "But  of  course 
that's  no  reason  why  your  Mr.  Auburn  should  take  after 
him." 

"Let  me  congratulate  you,  Gracie  darling,"  said  Dodo 
with  strong  though  restrained  asperity,  "upon  the  first  sen 
sible  remark  you've  made  for  some  time." 

Grace  gave  her  a  sidelong,  meditative  glance.  "H'm, 
.  .  .  you  like  him,  I  perceive,"  said  she. 


III. 


ON'T  you  think  we  might  just  step  in  and  have  a 
cup  of  tea  with  the  Carminows,  dear?  I  haven't 
been  there  since  I  don't  know  when,  and  it  does  seem  so 
unneighborly, "  pleaded  Mrs.  Blandford,  halting  on  the 
pavement  with  her  mauve  voile  skirts  clutched  up  at  both 
sides  and  trailing  on  the  ground  behind  her.  Miss  Bland- 
ford,  a  tall,  fair,  imposing  young  woman  in  pink  cloth  and 
silver  braid,  paused  also,  and  glanced  irresolutely  from  the 
glare  of  the  sunny  High  Street  into  the  cool  shade  of  the 
Vicarage  gateway.  "You  see  I  told  James  we  should  be 
out,  so  I'm  afraid  we  shan't  get  any  tea  at  all  if  we  go 
straight  home." 

" Mother,  don't  be  so  soft!  You  could  ring  him  in, 
couldn't  you?  But  we'll  go  here  if  you  like — it'll  save 
Writing  a  note  if  we're  going  to  ask  some  of  them  to  Eric's 
ball." 

"I  don't  think  it  would  be  kind  to  leave  them  out:  and 
after  all,  Mab  darling,  Mr.  Carminow  is  our  vicar,  and  very 
hardworking,  and  a  gentleman,  too,  I'm  sure." 

"Oh,  I  suppose  we've  got  to  have  them — though  I'm  sure 
I  don't  know  what  dress  Dodo's  going  to  come  in,  unless  she 
hires  one,"  said  Miss  Blandford  ill-naturedly.  "Nasty 
little  stuck-up — oh,  there  they  all  are!" 

The  Vicarage  stood  with  its  back  to  the  hills,  whose  lower 
slopes  had  been  planted  as  an  orchard.  It  was  an  old- 
fashioned  red-brick  house,  with  a  porch  at  one  side,  and  a 
long  rectangular  garden  running  down  to  the  road  and 
framed  in  trees.  The  studio  windows  looked  out  on  a  ter 
race  of  turf,  bordered  with  flowers,  their  gay  heads  deli- 

25 


26  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

cately  bright  against  a  stone  balustrade.  A  flight  of  steps 
led  down  to  the  lawn,  which  was  walled  off  from  Mr.  Car- 
minow's  rhubarb  and  gooseberry  beds  by  masses  of  white 
and  purple  rhododendrons.  Rhododendrons,  lilac,  and 
syringa  also  served  to  screen  the  kitchen  garden  from  the 
avenue:  but  from  the  lawn  it  was  separated  only  by  a 
gradual  rise  of  grassy  bank.  The  Blandfords  therefore 
soon  obtained  a  full  view  of  the  Carminow  family,  who  had 
been  playing  tennis,  but  were  now  star-scattered  on  the 
grass,  or  on  the  steps  that  led  up  to  the  terrace. 

"There's  Caron  and  Dodo,"  said  Mabel,  lowering  her 
voice  as  she  stepped  upon  the  lawn,  though  the  Carminows 
were  still  happily  unconscious  of  the  honor  impending: 
"and  that  on  the  grass  must  be  Roden — goodness,  I'm  glad 
Eric  doesn't  wear  his  hats  till  the  brim  comes  away  from 
the  crown! — and  that's  Dick  with  the  disgusting  pipe  in  his 
mouth,  and  another  man  that  I  don't  know,  and — who's 
that  girl  in  the  Panama  ?  Oh,  Grace  Trevor !  Well,  I  canrt 
think  why  she  should  want  to  take  up  with  the  Carminows, 
after  all  her  seasons  in  town ;  but  Grace  isn't  a  bit  refined  in 
her  tastes,  and  she's  so  plain  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  she  was 
setting  her  cap  at  Dick — not  that  a  Line  subaltern  would  be 
much  catch  for  a  baronet's  daughter " 

Here  Dodo  caught  sight  of  them,  and  telegraphed  the 
news  to  her  family.  "It's  the  Blandfords,  and  they've 
come  to  tea!  Get  up,  Dick !  Roddy,  ne  sois  pas  un  betel — 
Oh,  make  them  get  up,  Mr.  Auburn,  do!" 

They  all  did  get  up,  though  less  rapidly  than  Dodo,  who 
ran  to  Mrs.  Blandford  with  a  face  all  smiles.  "Dear  Mrs. 
Blandford,  do  come  and  sit  down!  Dickie's  getting  you  a 
chair.  How  good  of  you  to  walk  all  this  way  on  such  a  hot 
day!" 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Blandford,  who  had  a  tendency  to 
be  honest  in  and  out  of  season,  "we  didn't  exactly  come 
all  over  on  purpose,  because  Mabel  wanted  to  call  on  the 
Montgomery-Smiths,  but  they  were  out,  so  we  thought  we'd 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  27 

drop  in  here  for  a  cup  of  tea.  I  do  seem  to  miss  my  tea  so 
if  I  don't  get  it,  specially  after  I've  been  walking,  and 
Mabel  likes  me  to  walk  because  of  my  getting  so  stout  if  I 
only  take  carriage  exercise." 

"Who  the  devil  are  these  people?"  inquired  Auburn  of 
Grace  Trevor,  who  had  gone  with  him  to  fetch  chairs  while 
Dickie  ordered  tea. 

"Rich  snobs,  who  patronize  the  Canninows,"  was  the 
laconic  reply. 

"Why  do  they  stand  it?" 

Grace  raised  her  eyebrows  over  such  stupidity.  ' '  Because 
old  Blandy  would  cut  his  parish  subscriptions,  of  course!" 

"Confound  the  parish!"  said  Auburn. 

"Amen!"  said  Grace:  and,  having  thus  laid  in  mutual 
sympathy  the  foundations  of  a  lasting  friendship,  they 
returned  to  the  tea-table,  where  Auburn,  introduced  by 
Dodo  to  the  visitors,  wrapped  himself  up  like  the  spoiled 
child  that  he  was  in  distant  and  impenetrable  gloom. 

' '  There 's  always  tea  going  in  this  establishment, ' "  Roden 
said,  returning  with  the  teapot.  "Dodo  keeps  it  on  the  hob 
all  day,  stewing — like  cooks  do.  Of  course,  Dodo  is  a  cook, ' ' 
he  added  unaffectedly. 

"Oh,  but  I  don't  know  that  I  should  like  it  if  it  had 
stood  so  long  as  all  that,"  said  Mrs.  Blandford,  alarmed. 
"I've  got  such  a  very  weak  digestion,  I  shouldn't  sleep  a 
wink  all  night!" 

"Ah!  but  the  doctors  all  say  nowadays  that  strong  tea  is 
the  very  thing  for  a  weak  digestion,  don't  they,  Miss 
Trevor?  There's  nothing  so  strengthening  as  tannin;  it 
tans  the " 

"Did  you  find  it  very  hot  walking,  Mrs.  Blandford?" 
Miss  Trevor  asked,  taking  a  neighboring  chair,  and  point 
edly  turning  her  back  on  Roden.  Meanwhile  Dodo,  seated 
at  the  tea-table,  was  giving  her  attention  to  the  more  im 
portant  guest.  "And  how  are  you,  dear  Mabel?"  she 
inquired  sympathetically;  "pretty  well,  I  hope?" 


28  AN   ORDEAL   OF   HONOR 

Mabel  never  slurred  over  this  question  as  light-minded 
people  do,  but  replied  to  it  conscientiously  and  fully,  as  one 
alive  to  its  importance.  "Well,  pretty  well,  thank  you,  con 
sidering  the  weather.  I  held  out  till  the  thermometer  went 
up  to  eighty,  and  then  I  succumbed.  Yesterday  I  was  pros 
trate — absolutely  prostrate — with  one  of  my  racking  head 
aches,  but  to-day  I  think  I  really  do  feel  a  little  better.  Oh, 
thank  you  so  much,"  to  Roden,  who  silently  handed  her  a 
cup  of  tea;  "no,  no  sugar,  thank  you,  and  please  don't  give 
my  mother  any,  it's  so  bad  for  her,  and  she  will  take  it, 
when  she  gets  a  chance." 

"It  must  be  very  harassing,"  Dodo  remarked,  surrepti 
tiously  dropping  two  lumps  into  Mrs.  Blandford's  cup,  "to 
be  always  having  to  look  after  one's  mother.  Buns, 
Roden." 

"Have  you  been  cycling  much  lately,  Miss  Blandford?" 
asked  Roden.  There  were  times  when  Roden 's  expression 
verged  on  the  inane :  it  did  so  now. 

"Do  you  know  which  of  these  cakes  have  currants  in 
them  ?  Oh,  thank  you  so  much. — No,  I  really  haven 't,  we've 
been  so  occupied  with  preparing  for  my  brother 's  coming  of 
age.  My  father  insists  on  making  quite  a  grand  affair  of  it. 
We're  going  to  give  a  dinner  to  the  tenantry " 

"The  who?" 

"My  father's  laborers  and— and  tenants,  you  know." 

"H'm:yes,  I  see." 

"And  then  at  ten  o'clock  the  lower  orders  retire,  and 
we're  going  to  have  a  little  dance — quite  a  small  affair — 
just  a  few  of  the  county  people,  and  some  of  Erie's  friends 
from  London.  We  do  so  hope  you'll  be  able  to  come." 
Roden  murmured  polite  but  vague  acknowledgments. 
"And  will  your  friend  be  here  on  the  twenty-eighth?"  pur 
sued  Mabel,  who  was  rather  impressed  by  Auburn's  Byronic 
airs. 

"I  hope  not,"  said  Roden.  "He  came  for  one  night  and 
lie's  stayed  a  week  already." 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  29 

"Yes,  I  shall,"  said  Auburn,  waking  up.  "Do  say  I 
may  come  too,  Miss  Blandford — I  adore  dancing." 

"We  shall  be  so  pleased,"  said  Mabel.  "Gentlemen  are 
always  useful  on  these  occasions.  Of  course  we  shall  expect 
dear  Dodo  as  well,  though.  Dorothy ! ' ' 

Dodo  had  been  wickedly  plying  Mrs.  Blandford  with 
cucumber  sandwiches  and  sugar  cakes,  things  in  which  her 
soul  delighted,  though  she  was  not  often  allowed  to  have 
any.  Leaving  her  to  Grace,  Dodo  came  back  to  Miss  Bland- 
ford.  "What  is  it,  Mab?  Oh,  the  dance!  Yes,  Mrs. 
Blandford  was  just  telling  me  about  it,  and  about  the 
supper  you  are  going  to  give  to  the  mill-hands,"  she  said 
in  all  innocence:  then  caught  her  brother's  eye,  and  hur 
ried  on,  like  a  skater  who  finds  himself  unawares  on  thin  ice. 
"Thank  you,  I  should  like  to  come  immensely,  and  I'm 

sure "  again  she  caught  Roden's  eye  and  a  frown,  and 

glided  with  no  perceptible  break  into "Dickie  would, 

too." 

"My  father  has  engaged  the  military  band  from  Countis- 
ford,"  Mabel  said,  benignly  smiling,  "so  I  hope  the  music 
will  be  good.  We  want  everybody  to  be  quite  easy  and  in 
formal,  you  know,  and  not  be  very  stiff,  or  bother  about 
their  frocks.  I  daresay  some  of  the  girls  will  hardly  be 
dressed  at  all." 

"  'Shouldn't  wonder,"  said  Roden,  with  an  intensely 
grave  face. 

"It's  so  kind  of  you  to  say  so,"  murmured  Dodo  in  a 
voice  of  honey.  "I  was  just  wishing  I  could  afford  a  new 
frock,  but  now  I  shan't  mind." 

"You'll  wear  the  one  you  came  out  in,  I  suppose?  It'll 
do  quite  nicely,"  said  Miss  Blandford.  "I  shouldn't  think 
of  getting  a  new  one. ' ' 

"I  shan't,"  said  Dodo. 

"You  might  just  get  it  freshened  up  a  little,  you  know. 
Did  you  hear  Mrs.  Jackson  has  just  taken  to  dressmaking  ? 
A  few  yards  of  ribbon  OT  lace — imitation  would  do " 


so 

"What  are  you  going  to  wear?"  interrupted  Dodo 
abruptly. 

"Me?" 

"Yes,  you.  I  should  say  have  a  pink  satin.  Pink  is  such 
a  becoming  color  to  fair  people,  and  I'll  lend  you  my  pink 
topaz  necklace  to  go  with  it.  I  think  I  see  you, ' '  Dodo  went 
on,  partially  closing  her  eyes  and  gazing  at  Miss  Blandf  ord 
through  her  eyelashes,  "in  a  pink  satin  gown  with  a  long, 
long  Watteau  train — yards  long — standing  at  the  top  of  the 
grand  staircase  and  dispensing  hospitality  to  all  the  county. 
You've  no  idea  what  a  vision  you  would  look! — Oh,  must 
you  go  ?  I  'm  so  sorry !  But  do,  do  take  my  advice  and  have 
the  pink  satin  and  the  topaz  necklace!" 

When  the  Blandfords  were  gone,  the  others  returned  to 
tennis.  Except  Auburn,  who  was  erratic  in  the  extreme, 
they  were  all  keen  players :  Grace  a  thorough  sportswoman, 
Koden  clever,  cool,  and  steady,  Dodo  with  unerring  eye  and 
wrist  of  steel,  distinguished  for  her  fast  overhand  services 
and  screwy  backhanders.  But  the  harmony  of  the  set  was 
broken :  Auburn  was  abstracted,  and  Dodo  vicious :  and  the 
light  falling  dim,  and  Auburn  having  served  a  double  fault 
over  the  guard-nets  into  the  rhododendrons,  the  quartet 
broke  up.  Grace  said  she  must  go  home,  and  Dodo  and 
Dickie  volunteered  to  escort  her.  Boden  put  on  his  jacket 
and  sat  down  by  Caron  on  the  steps:  Auburn,  still  clad  only 
in  his  white  shirt  and  trousers,  threw  himself  down  on  the 
grasa 

"Lord,  Lord!"  he  said,  "what  a  queer  place  this  world 
is,  ain't  it?" 

"It  will  be  if  you  catch  rheumatic  fever,"  said  Eoden. 
"Put  your  coat  on,  old  man,  the  grass  is  drenching  wet." 

"Let  him  alone,"  said  Caron.  "He  won't  catch  rheu 
matic  fever.  He's  the  sort  that  never  have  a  day's  illness  till 
they  die — generally  in  lingering  torments.  Lie  still  and  I  '11 
draw  you,  just  to  take  the  taste  of  Mabel  Blandford  out  of 
my  mouth." 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  31 

"I  liked  the  way  Dodo  sorted  that  young  woman,*' 
Roden  said.  ''She  hadn't  a  notion  what  the  Babe  was  driv 
ing  at,  and  I  'm  not  clear  myself,  but  she  dimly  felt  it  was 
something  unpleasant." 

"Why  do  you — forgive  me  if  I  am  indiscreet — stand  the 
Blandfords?  They  seem  rather  oppressive." 

"They  are  good-natured  people." 

"So  is  my  tailor." 

"They  subscribe." 

"Does  that  carry  with  it  the  right  to  be  impertinent  to 
your  sister?" 

"Well,  there's  more  in  it  than  that,"  said  Roden.  He 
was  lighting  his  pipe,  but  he  paused  and  glanced  down  at 
Auburn,  as  if  surprised  by  his  manner.  "You  can't  be 
rude  to  a  man  who  planks  down  twenty  guineas  at  the 
Easter  offering." 

"He'd  go  on  doing  it." 

"Ah,  you've  intelligence,"  said  Caron.  "And  there's 
more  in  it  than  that,  though  Roddy's  sensitive  delicacy  pre 
vents  him  from  saying  so.  When  my  trouble  began,  old 
Blandy  was  awfully  kind;  he  insisted  on  taking  me  up  to 
all  the  biggest  bugs  in  Harley  Street.  I  nearly  died  of  the 
process,  and  the  family  of  the  sense  of  obligation.  It's 
against  etiquette  for  a  parson  to  refuse  a  favor." 

' '  I  own  I  dislike  being  under  an  obligation  to  people  like 
the  Blandfords, ' '  said  Roden.  ' '  Still,  one  must  be  civil. ' ' 

Auburn  looked  from  one  to  the  other:  from  the  dark, 
scornful  face  of  the  artist  to  Roden 's  careless  eyes.  Which 
of  those  three — Roden,  Caron,  Dodo — was  the  most  sensi 
tively  proud? 

' '  I  adhere  to  my  original  statement :  the  world  is  a  queer 
place." 

"A  commonplace,  don't  you  mean?"  said  Caron.  "Oh, 
you — you  plutocrat!  You're  only  good  to  borrow  money 
from.  Auburn,  on  your  honor,  have  you  ever  known  what 
it  is  to  be  short  of  a  fiver?" 


32  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

Auburn  grinned.  "In  Paris  once,  at  the  ripe  age  of 
twenty.  I  was  in  mischief:  Sir  Charles  heard  of  it,  and 
ordered  me  to  decamp.  I  was  interested,  and  stayed  on: 
so,  when  quarter  day  came,  vf  Id  cinq  sous,  Fanfan  la 
Tulipe!  I  thought  of  singing  in  the  streets,  but  was  dis 
suaded  by  my  friends.  Providence  not  having  blest  me 
with  a  melting  tenor.  Ultimately — I  decamped." 

"You  might  have  pawned  your  rings,"  Roden  suggested, 
eyeing  with  unveiled  disfavor  the  magnificent  emerald 
which  flashed — his  one  vanity — on  Auburn 's  brown  hand. 

"Or  this,"  suggested  Caron.  He  leaned  forward  and 
with  the  tips  of  his  fingers  seized  and  drew  out  a  gold  cross, 
which  Auburn  wore  round  his  neck  on  a  fine  chain,  the  soft 
collar  revealing  it.  A  momentary  anger  darkened  Au 
burn's  face:  he  sat  up,  throwing  off  Caron 's  hand. 

"Caron!"  said  Roden  quickly,  "don't  be  an  ass!" 

Auburn  dropped  back  on  the  grass  in  the  old  attitude. 
"Caron,  you  have  the  curiosity  of  a  woman,"  he  said 
quietly.  "That  was  given  me  by  a  man  I  used  to  know 
in  Cuba,  an  American,  a  Roman  Catholic:  he  was  shot 
through  the  stomach  and  died  in  my  arms. ' ' 

"Sentimentalist!"  said  Caron  unabashed.  "I  thought  it 
was  a  lady.  By  the  by,  what  had  you  been  playing  at  in 
Paris  to  induce  your  father  to  stop  the  supplies?  Sir 
Charles  in  the  character  of  censor  morum  is  new  to  me. ' ' 

"I  believe  there  was  a  woman  in  that.  Oh,  Platonic 
enough!"  Auburn  added,  with  an  ironical  glance  at  Roden, 
whose  face  was  devoid  of  expression.  "Give  a  poor  devil 
his  due,  Roddy :  you  virtuous  persons  are  so  fond  of  jump 
ing  to  Pharisaical  conclusions.  You're  like  Roland  Carew 
— he  reads  the  Lessons  in  church,  and  because  I  don't  he 
believes  me  capable  of  breaking  all  the  Decalogue :  and  the 
quaint  thing  is  that  I  never  saw  a  woman  yet  I'd  like  to 
spend  a  week  with. ' ' 

"In  that  case  I  don't  see  why  Sir  Charles  interfered." 

"Because  it  came  to  his  ears  that  I  was  going  in  for 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  33 

matrimony  in  earnest.  He  wants  me  to  marry,  but  stipu 
lates  for  a  woman  of  good  family,  with  plenty  of  money — 
the  sort  that  would  cut  a  figure  in  the  county.  He  wrote 
and  ordered  me  to  leave  Paris  unless  I  could  assure  him 
that  my  intentions  were  not  honorable.  Does  that  strike 
you  as  unedifying?  Ah!  you  don't  know  Sir  Charles." 

"While  under  the  benign  influence  of  the  twilight  hour, 
will  you  go  a  step  further,  and  tell  me  why  you  invariably 
refer  to  the  author  of  your  existence  as  Sir  Charles  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  go  to  the  deuce!"  Auburn  rose  suddenly  to  his 
feet,  picked  up  his  racquet  and  coat,  stepped  past  the  in 
quisitive  Caron,  and  ran  up  the  steps.  On  the  terrace  he 
stood  for  a  moment  smiling  down  at  them. 

"I  never  discuss  Sir  Charles,"  he  said  lightly.  "It's 
against  etiquette." 

"Queer!"  said  Caron  in  a  philosophic  tone.  Roden 
grunted.  ' '  Don 't  you  think  it 's  queer  ? ' ' 

"Think  what's  queer?" 

"  The  deliberate  way  he  spoke." 

"He  had  something  to  say,  and  he  said  it.  I  dare  say 
that  strikes  you  as  queer." 

"Witty,  i'  faith!    But  you  like  the  fellow,  don't  you?" 

"Oh  yes,  I  like  him.  I  shouldn't  like  my  sister  to  marry 
him."  ' 

"No  fear!"  said  Caron  vulgarly.  "He  isn't  a  marrying 
man. ' ' 

"No,  he  made  that  plain." 

"Oh,  that's  what  you  think  he  made  plain,  is  it?  Con 
found  his  impudence,  then!  Why,  Dodo's  only  a  child!" 

"Therefore  a  man  in  Auburn's  position  might  think  it 
wise  to  make  his  position  clear. ' ' 

After  a  pause  Caron  said  slowly,  "And  you  wouldn't 
desire  him  to  marry  Dodo  in  any  case?" 

"The  son  of  old  Auburn?    No." 

"No,"  agreed  Caron,  knocking  the  ash  from  his  cigar- 
ette.  ,  .  "Poor  devil!" 


IV. 

<  i  T    WISH   I  looked   nice,   Oracle,   but  it's  no  good 
L     pretending  that  I  do. " 

It  was  six  o'clock  on  the  evening  of  the  Blandfords' 
dance,  but  Dodo  was  ready  betimes,  having  been  invited  to 
dine  and  sleep  with  the  Trevors  and  go  on  with  Grace  in 
their  brougham.  Dodo  and  Grace  were  together  in  Dodo's 
room,  a  garret  under  the  roof,  beloved  by  her  for  its  wide 
window-seat,  where  many  a  time  she  had  sat  alone  with 
her  own  thoughts,  while  the  stars  hung  like  sparkling  gar 
lands  in  the  sky,  or  the  sunrise  bloomed  and  withered  over 
the  valley-head  and  the  hills'  long  curve:  alone  with  the 
hills  and  the  quiet  sky,  and  absorbing  from  them  a  faith  in 
that  Eternal  whose  vesture  they  are.  Dodo  loved  her  shabby 
garret,  and  did  not  care  though  her  carpet  was  threadbare, 
and  the  press  where  she  kept  her  slender  outfit  could  with 
difficulty  be  persuaded  to  open  and  shut.  The  gown  in 
which  Cinderella  proposed  to  go  to  the  ball  was  of  a  piece 
with  these  penurious  surroundings :  made  of  white  silk  and 
trimmed  with  cheap  embroidery,  it  had  never  fitted,  and 
was  now  as  limp  as  a  rag  and  as  yellow  as  fresh  butter. 

"It  is  a  wretch  of  a  dress,"  said  Dodo  with  a  sigh. 

"It  was  a  pity  you  couldn't  run  to  having  it  cleaned 
instead  of  washed,"  Grace  agreed  regretfully.  "Oh,  I  do 
think  things  are  stupid!  Here  I've  gone  and  given  seven 
guineas  for  a  new  satin,  and  I'm  not  pretty,  and  I  don't 
care  a  hang  about  dances,  and  I  've  been  to  hundreds  of  ones 

34 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  35 

up  in  town,  whereas  you've  only  been  to  three,  and  yoa'd 
look  so  nice " 

"I've  a  good  mind  not  to  go." 

"Oh,  Dodo!" 

"Yes,  I  know  it's  childish  to  mind ;  but  I  do  mind,"  Dodo 
said,  revolving  mournfully  before  a  dilapidated  mirror.  ' '  I 
don 't  want  a  frock  from  Pasquin,  but  I  do  want  to  be  aver 
age!  I  dare  say  there  are  girls  who  look  fascinating  in 
their  old  clothes,  but  I  don't.  I  look  plain  and  I  feel  plain, 
and  feeling  plain  makes  me  feel  stupid.  I  can't  stand 
Mabel's  expression,  and — and — Mr.  Auburn " 

"Mr.  Auburn!" 

"Well,  you  know,  Grace,  I  don't  suppose  he's  ever 
danced  with  a  frock  like  this  in  his  life!" 

"It  won't  kill  him,"  said  Grace  in  iceberg  tones.  Dodo 
laughed. 

"Am  I  a  snob?  He  knows  the  world  outside.  Therefore, 
if  he  only  gives  me  two  duty  dances — which  is  all  I  deserve, 
in  this  rag — I  shall  be  annoyed.  I  wish  my  fairy  godmother 
would — Entrez ! ' ' 

"Behold  a  baggage  for  mademoiselle,"  said  Aline,  ap 
pearing  with  a  large  cardboard  box  in  her  arms;  "it  is  ten 
pennees  to  pay." 

"Tenpence?  how  awful!  Thank  you  Aline. "  Dodo  laid 
down  the  box,  which  bore  no  lettering  except  her  own  ad 
dress.  "It's  something  parochial,  I  expect."  She  whipped 
out  a  pocket-knife  and  cut  the  string.  ' '  Tissue  paper !  why, 
what  in  the  world  can  it  be  ?  Why — oh  Grade!" 

She  stood  transfixed :  and  so  did  Grace  Trevor.  Swathed 
in  fold  after  fold  of  wrapping,  there  lay  before  their  eyes  a 
gown  of  white  satin  and  lace,  exquisitely  fragile  and  ex 
travagantly  rich.  Dodo  stood  speechless,  while  Grace,  the 
energetic,  unwrapped  and  lifted  out  this  realization  of  a 
girl's  dream.  "Satin  charmeuse,  oh!"  she  breathed,  "and 
real  old  rose  point,  or  my  name's  not  Grace  Trevor!  Oh, 
look!"  From  another  wrapping  she  drew  out  a  pair  of 


86  AN    ORDEAL    OF   HONOR 

long  suede  gloves,  from  another  an  exquisite  lace  fan  with, 
jewelled  sticks,  from  a  third  a  pair  of  slippers  too  small  for 
any  foot  save  Cinderella's.  "Oh,  Dodo!  oh,  Dodo!  I  be 
lieve  this  is  one  of  Pasquin's  frocks.  Oh,  Dodo !  who  is  it  ? " 

As  one  of  a  dream,  Dodo  awoke.  "Grace  Trevor,  do  you 
know  anything  about  this?  The  truth,  mind!" 

"On  my  honor,  I  know  no  more  than  you  do  yourself." 

' '  You  don 't  ?    Well,  but,  who  can  possibly ? ' ' 

She  scrutinized  the  lid,  shook  out  the  paper,  turned  the 
box  upside  down  and  scrutinized  that.  Not  one  scrap  of 
writing  rewarded  her.  She  examined  the  bodice;  the 
maker's  name,  if  it  had  ever  been  there  was  obliterated. 
"Try  it  on,"  said  Grace. 

Dodo  flew  into  it,  and  thrust  her  small  feet,  of  which  she 
was  rather  vain,  into  the  magic  slippers. 

"This  is  witchcraft,"  she  said.  "Why,  it  fits  without  a 
wrinkle!" 

"Nearly,"  Grace  nodded.  "That's  the  way  with  clothes 
that  are  really  well  cut,"  she  added  out  of  the  depths  of 
considerable  worldly  experience.  Grace  was  blunt  and 
frank,  a  thorough  country  girl  in  all  her  tastes  and  ways, 
but  her  six  seasons  in  town  had  left  their  mark  for  all  that, 
and  Dodo  was  used  to  rely  upon  that  shrewd  judgment, 
which  had  seen  many  men  and  things,  and  was  not  often 
deceived.  "Of  course  these  Empire  gowns  are  fairly  flow 
ing,  and  you're  so  soft  and  slight  you  haven't  any  angles. 
Do  you  know  what  this  must  have  cost,  Dodo  ?  More  than 
my  seven  guineas. ' ' 

"But  who  could  have  sent  it?" 

"Roden?" 

"Roden  never  has  a  penny.  No,  it  can't  be  any  of  the 
boys,  bless  them!  they  couldn't  run  to  it.  Seven  guineas! 
Are  you  sure  this  lace  is  real?" 

"Positive,"  said  Grace  with  conviction.  "My  dear,  you 
can't  mistake  old  rose  point  for  imitation  Valenciennes! 
This  is  all  made  with  the  needle — every  stitch  of  it  embroil- 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  3T 

ered  on  the  net.  (And  I  wish,"  she  added  to  herself,  "I 
knew  a  shop  where  you  can  get  an  Empire  gown  in  old 
rose  point  for  seven  guineas,  O  my  innocent  Dodo!") 

"But  who  can  have  sent  it?" 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  you  haven't  an  idea — you  can't 
think  of  anybody?" 

"I  have  not  the  very  faintest  idea,  and  I  can't  think 
of " 

She  stopped  dead. 

"Hullo!"  said  Grace. 

Dodo  was  extremely  white.  "Here,  help  me  out  of  it," 
she  said  abruptly.  "It's  all  rubbish,  you  know. — I  can't 
wear  a  dress  that's  dropped  from  the  skies.  It  might  be 
stolen  goods ! ' ' 

"But,  Dodo,  you  don't  mean ?" 

"  Don 't  bother  me, ' '  said  Dodo  imperiously.  ' '  Unhook  it, 
please:  we  shall  be  late  for  dinner.  No — no,  it's  no  use:  I 
shan't  wear  it." 

Vain  to  contend  with  her  in  this  mood :  Grace  knew  that 
from  experience.  The  loyal  friend  was  scarlet  with  vexa 
tion  and  regret,  and  the  tears  were  not  far  from  her  eyes. 
What  crotchet  Miss  Carminow  had  taken  into  her  head, 
Grace  could  not  guess:  nor  who  the  sender  might  be,  nor 
whom  Dodo  might  imagine  the  sender  to  be.  Keen  as  she 
was,  she  never  divined  the  secret  arrow  of  certainty  that 
had  darted  into  Dodo's  breast.  Extravagant,  fantastic, 
graceful,  unpardonable — Dodo  knew  of  but  one  head  irreg 
ular  enough  to  conceive  and  carry  out  such  a  prank. 
Soberly  she  hooked  herself  into  the  despised  Japanese  silk, 
while  the  satin  charmeuse  was  laid  back  in  its  wrappings. 
It  had  done  its  work,  however.  Plain  as  her  dress  might  be, 
apparently  Dodo  no  longer  felt  plain:  her  pale  cheeks 
bloomed,  her  eyes  flashed  vividly  blue  under  her  coronet  of 
thick  fair  hair.  "When  she  was  ready,  and  Grace  had  pre 
ceded  her  out  of  the  room,  she  hesitated:  an  exceedingly 
naughty  look  came  into  her  face. 


88  AN    ORDEAL    OF   HONOR 

"Oh,  but  it's  serious!"  she  said  aloud.  "I  oughtn't  to. 
...  If  I  do,  and  he  did  .  .  ." 

"What?"  said  Grace  from  the  stair. 

"Nothing,  darling,"  said  Dodo.  She  snatched  up  the 
jewelled  fan  and  ran  away  from  her  conscience. 

One  provincial  dance  is  much  like  another.  The  Bland- 
fords'  big  double  drawing-room  was  over-heated,  over- 
lighted,  and  imperfectly  waxed:  the  military  band  was 
described  by  Koden  as  few  and  evil :  but  the  Moet  et  Chan- 
don  was  excellent,  while  Mrs.  Blandf  ord  in  green  satin  and 
Mr.  Blandford  in  a  fat  white  waistcoat  diffused  an  atmos 
phere  of  jollity  and  kindness.  Charles  Auburn  had  danced 
with  Mabel  and  shaken  hands  with  Eric  Blandford,  and  was 
now  waiting  for  the  Trevors'  brougham,  delayed  by  the  in 
curable  unpunctuality  of  Lady  Trevor.  Meanwhile  he 
found  amusement  in  studying  the  crowd. 

Here  and  there  he  recognized  a  familiar  face,  for  the 
Blandfords,  rich,  liberal,  and  genuinely  kind,  had  made 
good  their  footing  among  the  less  reserved  of  the  county 
dignitaries.  Lady  Ricky  Harewood,  grey-haired,  Radical, 
eccentric,  distinguished  in  black  velvet  and  diamonds,  had 
brought  a  handful  of  guests:  her  nephew  Val  Attwood, 
handsome  and  pleasant ;  her  nieces,  tall  and  languid,  their 
clothes  a  reproach  to  the  rest  of  the  room;  a  noted  politi 
cian,  and  an  A.R.A.  of  thirty-five.  The  remaining  forty 
or  fifty  couples  were  drawn  from  the  neighboring  country 
side,  with  a  sprinkling  of  soldiers  from  Amesbury,  and  of 
city  men  introduced  by  Eric.  Probably  Auburn's  classi 
fication  would  have  run  as  follows: — 1.  Ordinary  people. 
2.  Not  bad  sort  of  people.  3.  Absolute  bounders.  At  five- 
and-twenty  he  would  have  given  himself  airs:  at  five-and- 
thirty  he  was  gloomily  urbane.  He  was  amused  to  see 
Roden  dancing  with  Louisine  Attwood,  the  pair  of  them 
looking  like  foreigners.  Louisine  was  tall  and  dark  and 
handsome,  a  Londoner  to  her  finger-tips.  "When  they  van- 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  39 

ished  on  the  eve  of  the  Lancers,  it  crossed- Auburn's  mind  to 
be  sorry  for  Grace  Trevor.  While  the  set  was  forming,  she, 
with  Sir  George  and  Lady  Trevor,  and  Dodo  Carminow, 
entered  the  room. 

Auburn  had  been  three  weeks  at  Stanton  Mere,  and 
showed  no  inclination  to  go.  Why  he  stayed  was  as  vague 
to  himself  as  to  any  one  else.  All  he  knew  was  that  he 
liked  the  gay,  shabby,  careless  house,  where  Middle  Age  had 
never  been  allowed  to  set  foot.  He  liked  Caron,  with  his 
passion  for  art  and  his  queer,  personal  turn  of  conversa 
tion  :  he  liked  Mr.  Carminow,  painter,  poet,  musician,  and 
model  parish  priest:  he  liked  Roden,  Dodo's  ally,  and  he 
liked  Dodo's  gay  youth  and  ironical  eyes.  He  revelled  in 
the  long  summer  days  that  began  with  a  dip  in  the  river 
and  ended  with  supper  on  the  lawn.  His  own  home  life 
had  not  been  a  happy  one :  underneath  his  gay  manner  he 
was  reserved  to  a  fault,  and  never  dreamed  of  boring  people 
with  his  private  affairs,  unless  they  were  both  cheerful  and 
trivial:  with  countless  intimate  acquaintances,  he  had 
scarcely  a  single  friend.  "I  do  know  one  man  who  would 
cry  if  I  died,  besides  my  tailor,"  he  said  once  to  Roden,  who 
was  startled  by  his  bitterness.  He  stayed  on  with  the  Car- 
minows  because  they  offered  him  genuine  kindness  and 
affection.  He  was  not  given  to  self -analysis,  and  looked  no 
deeper.  As  for  Dodo,  he  was  very  fond  of  her,  and  did  not 
choose  to  see  her  patronized  by  the  Blandfords,  but  what 
of  that?  She  was  a  child  of  half  his  age!  He  had  seen 
thousands  of  women  prettier  than  Miss  Carminow,  and  his 
net  verdict  was  that  they  bored  him.  He  marry?  He 
would  as  soon  have  gone  to  be  hanged.  Dodo  was  a  pretty 
child,  but  not  in  his  line  at  all.  When  she  followed  Lady 
Trevor  into  the  Blandfords'  drawing-room  he  was  con 
scious  of  an  odd,  startled  sensation,  a  thrill  that  set  live 
pulses  tingling  in  his  finger-tips.  That  dress,  good  heavens 
.  .  .  and  those  eyes! 

H«  was  at  her  side,  waiting,  while  she  shook  hands  with 


40  AN    ORDEAL    OF   HONOR 

Mabel  Blandf ord :  he  ignored  Mabel  Blandf ord,  he  also  ig 
nored  Grace  Trevor,  to  the  great  edification  of  that  young 
lady.  "May  I  offer  you  a  programme,  Miss  Carminow?" 
he  said  very  ceremoniously. 

Dodo  took  it  from  his  hand  and  glanced  at  it.  From  the 
current  set  of  Lancers  to  the  last  galop, ' '  C.  St.  L.  A. "  was 
scrawled  right  across  it  in  a  wandering  but  legible  hand. 
Dodo  studied  it  for  a  moment,  biting  her  lips  to  hide  a  smile. 
Coolly  she  took  up  the  tiny  green  pencil,  coolly  she  scored 
a  line  across  and  across  those  impudent  initials. 

"I  never  allow  any  one  but  Roden  to  do  that,"  she  said. 

"Oh,  I  didn't  really  expect  to  get  them  all,"  said  Auburn. 

"No?  .  .  .  How  many  did  you  expect?" 

"Six  or  seven." 

"H'm You  are  mad." 

"How  many  may  I  have?" 

"None  .  .  .  perhaps." 

Auburn  repossessed  himself  of  the  programme  and 
signed  his  name  to  three  waltzes.  "I  begin  with  shame  to 
take  the  lowest  room. ' ' 

"Are  you  ashamed  of  yourself?"  Dodo  inquired.  "I'm 
so  glad.  I  feel  sure  you  ought  to  be.  No,  you  can't  have 
the  next  waltz,  I've  promised  it  to  Mr.  Attwood,  and  here 
he  conies.  .  .  .  You  may  have  the  one  after  this." 

"How  d'ye  do,  Mr.  Auburn?" 

The  speaker  was  Louisine  Attwood.  Auburn  stared  at 
her  for  a  moment  without  knowing  her.  She  laughed  a 
little  and  gave  him  her  hand. 

"Aren't  you  goin'  to  ask  me  to  dance?  Let  us  console 
each  other  among  these  barbarians.  Unless  you've  found 
consolation  already?" 

Auburn  was  conscious  of  a  flash  of  anger  that  could  not 
be  mastered,  and  that  dictated  his  reply. 

"Thanks,"  he  said,  "I  have." 

.The  Blandf ords'  garden  sloped  down  to  a  little  river, 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  41 

which  ran  with  a  merry  flow  between  moon-whitened  banks 
of  grass,  or  lingered  under  the  darkness  of  summer  leafage 
in  deep,  eddying  gloom.  Most  of  the  dancers  preferred  to 
walk  on  the  lawns  under  the  lighted  windows  of  the  court, 
between  trim  parterres  and  strings  of  Japanese  lanterns: 
not  so  Auburn.  "Let's  get  out  of  this,"  he  said,  and  Dodo 
made  no  demur,  although  it  was  dark  under  the  alders  by 
the  river,  and  the  ways  were  too  verdurous  to  be  good  for 
satin  shoes.  For  some  time  they  strolled  on  in  silence, 
Dodo's  hand  lying  on  Auburn's  arm,  while  the  river 
prattled  to  them  with  its  clear  voice  like  children  talking, 
and  the  night  smell  of  honeysuckle  breathed  in  their  faces. 
Dodo  found  in  the  situation  an  element  of  vague  excite 
ment,  not  to  be  defined,  not  to  be  ignored.  They  had  been 
alone  together  many  times,  but  in  informal  ways,  for  at  the 
Vicarage  one  could  never  count  on  privacy :  in  their  present 
relation  there  was  a  tenseness,  due  partly  to  the  minor 
details  of  the  scene — the  isolating  dark,  this  close  contact, 
the  very  formality  of  dress — and  partly  to  some  nameless 
shade  of  constraint  in  Auburn's  manner,  which  made  her 
feel  as  though  she  had  never  been  alone  with  him  before. 
At  length  they  came  out  of  the  dense  gloom  of  a  woodland 
walk  into  a  mossy  clearing,  freckled  with  pale  moonlight. 
"Dodo "  said  Auburn. 

"Sir?" 

Bluntly,  baldly,  Auburn's  emotions  expressed  themselves 
in  words. 

"Dodo,  will  you  marry  me?" 

"No." 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  you  don't  want  me  to." 

"I  do." 

"Not  really.    You're  saying  this  half  against  your  will." 

"Dodo,  how  on  earth — " 

"Do  I  know  that  ?    Never  mind :  I  do." 

Auburn  stood  looking  down  at  her  with  his  hands  in  his 


4£  AN   ORDEAL   OF   HONOR 

pockets.  A  beam  of  moonlight  striking  through  the  trees 
lit  up  every  line  in  his  dark,  worn  face,  while  it  silvered  to 
flaxen  fairness  the  coronet  of  Dodo's  hair,  and  bathed  in  its 
unearthly  glow  the  pallor  and  smooth  slenderness  of  her 
young  shoulders  and  rounded  throat.  Thirty-five  against 
nineteen  is  long  odds  to  begin  with,  and  a  life  spent  in  a 
country  village  is  further  handicapped  by  contrast  with  a 
gipsy  experience  of  every  capital  in  Europe.  Matrimony 
means  babies  and  butlers :  Auburn  was  not  fond  of  butlers, 
and  had  a  rooted  objection  to  babies.  He  liked  a  wander 
ing  life,  men's  society,  and  the  atmosphere  of  a  club.  It's 
never  the  same  when  you're  married :  the  one  woman  edges 
herself  in  and  edges  out  the  many  men,  the  tried  and  true, 
the  comrades  of  many  a  gallant  fight. 

"I  do  want  you.    I  shouldn't  ask  you  if  I  didn't." 

"How  many  times  have  you  said  this  before?" 

"Never." 

She  raised  her  eyes,  incredulous.    "Is  that  really  true?" 

"Yes,"  said  Auburn  stiffly.  "I  don't  tell  lies,  you 
know." 

"But  you  don't  care  for  me." 

"I  do,"  said  Auburn  with  the  same  ridiculous  baldness. 
The  fluent  protestations  which  he  would  have  poured  into 
Louisine's  ear  deserted  him  now:  the  only  things  he  could 
have  said  were  the  things  he  dared  not  say,  the  eternal  lan 
guage  of  passion.  "Dodo,  I  do  love  you:  you  might  see 
that  for  yourself,  I  should  think.  It's  true  I  didn't  want 
to  marry  you,  but  I  do  now.  I  don't,  as  a  rule,  get  on  with 
women,  but  you've  struck  your  roots  deep  down  into  me.  I 
do  want  you :  the  Lord  alone  knows  what  I  shall  do  with  you 
when  I've  got  you,  but — but " 

"And  if  you  don't  get  me?" 

He  essayed  to  laugh.  "I  dare  say  I  shan't  die  of  it. 
But  ...  ." 

"Let  us  sit  down,"  said  Dodo,  scarcely  less  agitated  than 
he,  but  schooling  herself  to  an  appearance  of  calm.  There 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  48 

was  a  seat  in  the  middle  of  the  glade,  and  she  threw  herself 
into  a  corner  of  it,  her  face  in  shadow,  though  a  diaper  of 
moonlight  flickered  in  the  breathing  air  over  her  silken 
ankle,  her  lithe,  twisted  attitude,  and  the  whiteness  of  her 
arms  and  neck.  "Do  you  realize,  I  wonder,  how  little  I 
know  of  you?  I  don't  even  know  your  name." 

' '  Charles  St.  Leger  Auburn. ' ' 

"Aged  thirty-five:  but  that  doesn't  tell  me  much.  It  is 
of  you  that  I  know  so  little — you,  yourself." 

"I'll  tell  you  whatever  you  like." 

"You  don't  literally  mean  that?" 

"I  do." 

"I  may  ask  you  what  I  like,  and  you'll  answer  me?" 

"Fully." 

"H'm,"  said  Dodo,  and  was  silent  for  a  few  minutes, 
reviewing  the  extent  of  her  power.  All  circumstances  con 
sidered,  it  was  perhaps  inevitable  that  her  thoughts  should 
be  more  taken  up  with  him  than  with  herself,  with  what  he 
could  give  her  than  with  what  she  could  give  him.  Little 
used  to  self -analysis,  she  had  given  up  the  complex  of  her 
own  feelings  in  despair,  to  turn  curiously  to  the  task  of 
eliciting  Auburn's.  "When,"  she  said,  "did  you  first 
begin  to  care  for  me  ? ' ' 

"I  don't  know." 

"When  did  you  first  find  out  you  cared  for  me,  then?" 

"To-night,  when  you  came  into  the  room." 

"Why?"  He  was  silent.  "Sit  down  here  on  the  seat 
where  I  can  see  your  face,  and  tell  me  precisely  what  you 
felt,  for  at  present  I  don't  understand  you  at  all."  She 
hardly  expected  him  to  obey,  but  he  did  obey,  though  his 
eyes  were  restless,  and  his  attitude  betrayed  constraint. 

"Precisely  what  I  felt?  Thou  hast  asked  a  hard  matter. 
I  felt  an  utter  fool — I  do  still,  if  that's  illuminative.  I — 
you " 

"Goon." 

"Don't  slave-drive  me,  Dodo." 


44  AN    ORDEAL    OF   HONOR 

She  threw  out  her  long,  slim  hand  and  touched  his  arm. 
"It  is  what  I  mean  to  do.  You're  too  reserved,  Mr. 
Auburn:  you  want  to  pay  your  way  everywhere  in  small 
change.  /  shan't  take  silver  from  you — don't  think  it:  if 
you're  too  proud  or  too  shy  to  be  frank  with  me  to-night, 
the  bargain's  off.  I  want  the  bottom  of  your  sack." 

"Can't  I  leave  it  to  the  imagination?"  Dodo  shook  her 
small  head.  "Here  goes,  then!  To  begin  with,  I  never 
wanted  to  marry  any  woman  before.  I  've  seen  more  beau 
tiful  women  than  you  are,  but  they  didn't  attract  me:  I've 
liked  a  few  women — not  many — but  I  didn  't  care  for  them 
in  that  way.  Most  of  them  seemed  to  ask  so  much." 

"So  should  I." 

"Yes,  but  that's  the — the  deviltry  in  you." 

"Merci!" 

"And,  as  such,  I  like  it." 

"Do  you  like  having  all  this  dragged  out  of  you?" 

"I'm  blessed  if  I  care !  You've  got  hold  of  me,  Dodo,  and 
that's  the  truth.  You  can  do  anything  you  like  with  me, 
if  only " 

"You  don't  ask  me  to  love  you?" 

"No,  I  only  ask  you  to  marry  me." 

"Tell  me  some  more  about  yourself.  You've  lived  a  dis 
gracefully  idle  life,  I  believe.  Did  you  never  have  any 
thing  to  do?" 

"I  was  in  the  Guards  for  a  couple  of  years." 

1 '  In  the  Guards  ? "    He  nodded.    ' '  Why  did  you  go  ? " 

"Family  affairs  made  it  desirable." 

"Are  you  under  the  impression  that  you've  answered 
what  I  asked?" 

"Oh,  confound  it  all!  ...  I  thought  it  best  to  clear  out 
before — before  it  grew  too  hot  to  hold  me.  No,  it  wasn't 
my  fault:  but  you've  heard  of  Sir  Charles  and  his  ways? 
He  was  worse  then  than  he  is  now,  and  his  name  was  all 
over  London.  I  thought  I'd  clear  out  of  the  road  before 
any  very  bad  scandal  happened." 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  45 

"Did  any  bad  scandal  happen?" 

"Oh,  Lord,  yes — half  a  dozen." 

"So  bad  that  you  would  have  had  to  resign  your 
commission  ? ' ' 

"As  to  that  I  don't  say.  But  one  doesn't  stay  till  one's 
kicked  out." 

"Tell  me  something  about  Sir  Charles." 

"You've  heard." 

"I've  heard  that  he's  a  bold  bad  man.  Grace  Trevor 
shakes  her  head  over  him.  But  I  don't  know  what  he's 
been  to  you." 

"My  father,"  said  Auburn  concisely. 

"What  sort  of  father?" 

"I  am  certain  I  can't  discuss  him  without  swearing, 
Dodo." 

"I  don't  mind — much." 

"Soit !  on  your  head  be  it.  I  lived  at  home  with  him  till 
I  was  fourteen,  when  I  went  to  Eton.  After  that  I  was 
rarely  at  Auburn.  I  spent  my  holidays  at  Ferndean,  the 
place  next  to  ours,  with  some  people  named  Carew.  Young 
Roland — the  son  of  the  house — was  and  is  rather  a  friend 
of  mine.  "We  were  in  the  same  form  at  Eton,  and  went  up 
the  school  together.  After  that  we  went  up  to  Cambridge 
in  the  same  year,  to  King's.  I  had  one  grand  row  with 
Sir  Charles  when  I  was  twenty-one:  I've  never  been  home 
since." 

"Never  been  home  since?" 

"Never  crossed  the  threshold  of  Auburn.  After  my  time 
in  the  Guards  I  went  abroad  and  did  Europe  pretty  thor 
oughly:  India,  too,  and  Africa:  America  I've  scarcely  set 
foot  in.  Roland  used  to  come  with  me  till  he  married :  he's 
a  Devonshire  man,  with  a  strain  of  the  Devonshire  seafar 
ing  blood  in  him.  That 's  all. ' ' 

"What  is  your  father  like?" 

"Big,  handsome,  genial:  like  me  but  better-looking — less 
of  a  gipsy,  and  more  of  a  squire." 


I 


46  AN    ORDEAL    OF   HONOR 

"What  did  he  do  to  you  to  make  you  hate  him  so?" 

"Scared  me,"  said  Auburn  after  a  pause.  With  a  pri 
vate  keenness  of  gratification  Dodo  saw  that  he  had  slipped 
into  an  easy  vein  of  frankness,  and  was  talking  to  her  as 
naturally  as  if  he  were  thinking  aloud.  "I  was  most  hor 
ribly  afraid  of  him,  and  that's  the  truth.  Excessive  fear 
is  a  brutalizing  thing.  I  doubt  if  you  were  ever  afraid  of 
any  one  in  your  life :  I  never  was,  but  of  Sir  Charles.  All 
my  early  memories  are  connected  with  him,  and  uncom 
monly  painful  they  are. ' ' 

"What  did  he  do  to  you?" 

"He  used  to  knock  me  about:  but  I  don't  think  it  was 
the  actual  lickings  I  cared  for.  It  was  what  lay  behind 
them,  the  diseased  enjoyment  of  cruelty  for  cruelty's  sake. 
I  once  saw  him  beat  a  dog  to  death.  I  mean  that  literally : 
he  stood  over  it  till  it  died.  I  saw  him  do  it.  It  was  in  an 
old  shed  at  the  bottom  of  the  garden;  and  I  never  went 
into  that  shed  afterwards.  I  don't  know  that  I  should  care 
to  go  into  it  now.  Years  later,  when  I  was  at  Eton — when 
I  was  at  Cambridge — I've  woke  up  in  the  night  and  heard 
that  poor  brute  howling." 

"What  a  time  you  must  have  had." 

Dodo's  banal  comment  served  the  purpose,  for  which  it 
was  designed,  of  luring  him  on,  while  if  she  had  said  one 
word  in  ten  of  what  she  thought  he  would  have  fallen  back 
instantly  upon  a  lighter  tone. 

"I  did  have  the  very  dickens  of  a  time.  I  can  see  now 
how  bad  it  was,  which  of  course  I  couldn't  then.  It  was 
lucky  it  didn't  last  another  year  or  so,  or  there  would  have 
been  permanent  mischief  done.  .  .  .  There  is  mischief." 
He  had  taken  up  Dodo's  hand,  and  involuntarily  his  own 
locked  itself  closer  and  closer  over  it  till  the  grasp  became 
painful,  while  his  voice  dropped  to  a  murmur.  "There  is 
something  wrong  in  me  somewhere :  a  kink  in  my  brain, 
where  Sir  Charles  is  concerned.  I  can 't  judge  him  sanely : 
when  I  try  to,  incidente  like  that  come  between  me  and  him, 


AN    ORDEAL   OF    HONOR  47 

and  I  lose  myself  in  hating  him.  If  I  met  him,  I  should 
have  hard  work  to  keep  my  hands  off  him.  I  remember, 
while  I  watched  him  laying  into  that  poor  brute  of  a  dog, 
how  I  longed  that  I  or  some  one  else — preferably  I — could 
take  it  out  of  him  in  the  same  way — could  kill  him,  to  be 
quite  frank:  and  I  don't  believe  that  wish — however 
unedifying  you  may  think  it — has  ever  quite  died  out  of 
me.  I  can't  stand  cruelty — Roland  used  to  say  I  was  like 
a  woman  in  that:  I  want  to  pay  it  back,  good  measure, 
pressed  down  and  brimming  over.  I  can  tolerate  most 
vices — I'm  not  a  puritan,  haven't  the  right  to  be,  Heaven 
knows, — but  that  kind  of  conscious,  deliberate  brutality 
makes  me  see  red.  I  want  it  killed,  that's  all — dead  out  of 
the  way,  as  I  wish  he  were " 

"Don't,  Charles,  you're  hurting  me." 

' '  Good  Lord !    I  'm  awfully  sorry,  Dodo. '  *     . 

"I  don't  care  about  my  hand,"  said  Dodo.  With  one 
light  movement  she  sat  up,  threw  her  arm  round  his  neck, 
and  laid  her  pale  face  against  his  face,  so  close  that  the  long 
lashes  of  her  closed  eyes  brushed  against  his  cheek.  "Do 
you  want  me,  Charles?  I  know  you  do.  I'll  marry  you." 

' '  I  believe  I  ought  never  to  have  asked  you.  I  'm  sixteen 
years  older  than  you  are,  and  I've  been  in  ugly  places.  I 
shall  hurt  more  than  your  hand,  child." 

"I  don't  care.    I  can  bear  pain,"  said  Dodo. 

"Say  you  love  me,  or  I  swear  I  won't  touch  you." 

She  had  to  bear  pain  then :  an  insurgency  of  feeling  that 
was  like  the  pangs  of  birth.  All  her  nineteen  years  of  cool, 
self-contained,  passionless  youth  revolted  against  the  bur 
den  so  suddenly  laid  upon  her,  and  struggled  to  escape. 
The  Carminows  were  not  an  emotional  family,  and  her  life 
among  them  had  never  trained  her  to  play  her  part  in  cir 
cumstances  where  strong  feeling  had  to  be  not  only  suf 
fered,  but  shown.  "With  the  knowledge  that  Auburn  was  in 
deadly  earnest  came  also  a  sense  of  deadly  lassitude  and  an 
intuition  of  the  only  way  to  evade  him.  Subtle  and  fine, 


48  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

she  slipped  into,  not  away  from,  his  arms,  and  looked  up  at 
him  with  her  vividly  blue  eyes,  derisive,  alluring. 

"Too  late,"  she  said,  "you've  asked  me  to  marry  you, 
and  I  shan't  let  you  off.  To  be  sure,  you  needn't  kiss  me 
if  you  don't  want  to." 

It  was  not  what  he  wanted :  he  did  not  like  it,  even  at  the 
moment.  But  he  would  have  been  more,  or  less,  than  man 
if  he  had  not  taken  up  the  challenge,  and  for  the  rest  of 
that  evening,  by  moonlight  or  by  lamplight,  waltzing  on 
Auburn's  arm  or  strolling  with  him  in  the  scented  garden, 
Miss  Carminow  had  leisure  to  appreciate  the  less  exacting 
aspect  of  her  new  tie :  Auburn 's  hard-driven  meekness,  her 
own  coquetry,  Roden's  disapproval,  the  envy  of  Mabel 
Blandford,  the  raised  eyebrows  of  Louisine  Attwood,  all 
that  life  at  Stanton  Mere  had  to  offer  of  heady,  and  spark 
ling,  and  sour. 


V. 


RACE,  are  you  in  bed?     Can  I  come  in  for  a 
minute?" 

Late  as  it  was,  and  tired  as  she  might  have  been,  Grace 
had  not  gone  to  bed.  She  was  brushing  her  hair  by  the 
open  window  of  her  bedroom,  which,  like  most  of  the  rooms 
at  Trevor  Hall,  was  more  comfortable  than  elegant.  Indeed, 
the  solid  plainness  of  the  mahogany  furniture,  the  dearth 
of  flowers  and  knick-knacks,  and  the  frieze  of  sporting 
prints  that  adorned  the  walls  suggested  rather  a  man 's  occu 
pation  than  a  girl's.  Grace  was  thinking  about  Charles 
Auburn,  and  that  with  a  clouded  brow.  He  had  been  im- 
penitently  rude  to  Louisine  Attwood,  and  had  thrown  over 
every  other  claim  to  dance  five  dances  with  Dodo  Car- 
minow  and  sit  out  seven.  Very  young  gentlemen  very 
much  in  love  commit  these  extravagances,  but  not  men  of 
Auburn's  age,  class,  and  tastes:  for  the  world  is  censorious, 
especially  in  country  circles,  and  escapades  of  this  sort  are 
not  viewed  with  favor  except  as  the  preliminary  to  a  ro 
mantic  betrothal.  Inasmuch  as  Grace  did  not  believe  Mr. 
Aubnrn  to  have  the  remotest  intention  of  marrying  Dodo 
or  any  one  else,  the  loyal  friend  was  annoyed.  She  was 
cross  with  Dodo  too — so  reckless,  so  unguarded ! — and  had 
scarcely  said  a  word  to  her  since  Auburn  had  placed  her, 
hooded  and  drowsy,  in  the  Trevors'  brougham  at  two  in  the 
morning.  But  she  could  not  help  smiling  when  Dodo  came 
in,  looking  abnormally  young  and  innocent,  and  buttoned 
with  big  brass  buttons  into  a  red  cotton  dressing-gown 
which  extended  from  her  throat  to  her  heels. 

49 


50  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

"Have  a  biscuit,"  Grace  suggested,  nodding  hospit 
ably  towards  an  easy-chair.  "They're  in  that  'box  on  the 
table." 

"No,  thank  you,  I  had  too  much  supper.  Do  you  often 
feel  hungry  in  the  night  ? ' ' 

"I  like  to  have  them  by  me,  in  case.  I  say,  you  didn't 
meet  Polly — my  new  maid — in  the  passage,  did  you  ? ' ' 

"No— why?" 

Grace  chuckled.  "Only  because  she's  rather  nervous. 
You  do  look  weird  in  that  get-up,  you  know,  old  girl. ' ' 

"H'm:  it's  very  comfy.  You  needn't  scoff  at  my 
poverty" — "Fiddle"  said  Grace — "and  draw  invidious 
contrasts  between  the  way  you  dress  and  the  way  I  dress, 
because  one  of  these  days  I  'm  going  to  have  a  mauve  silk 
kimono  trimmed  with  swansdown. ' ' 

"Very  sensible  of  you:  swansdown  washes  so  well." 

"When  it  becomes  soiled  I  shall  throw  it  away — no,  give 
it  to  my  maid,  I  mean — and  buy  another." 

"All  right,"  said  Grace  cheerfully,  "invite  me  to  the 
wedding!" 

"What  wedding?" 

"Why,  your  wedding,  of  course!  What's  the  matter 
with  the  child?" 

"Oh,  nothing.  I  say,  Charles  Auburn  does  dance  well. 
Don't  you  think  he's  really  rather  nice?" 

"Well,  if  you  ask  me,"  Grace  said  with  irrepressible 
energy,  ' '  I  thought  you  both  of  you  behaved  abominably ! 
Of  course  Mr.  Auburn's  a  perfect  spoiled  child  and  thinks 
he  can  do  as  he  likes :  but  I  must  say,  Dodo,  I  thought  you 
had  more  sense ! ' ' 

Dodo  sat  down  on  the  wide  window-seat,  leaning  her  fair 
head  against  the  dark  oaken  frame.  Pale  and  grave,  she 
stretched  out  her  left  hand  and  waved  it  to  and  fro  under 
Miss  Trevor's  nose.  On  the  third  finger  sparkled  a  curious 
ring,  consisting  of  a  single  square  emerald  sculptured  with 
the  words :  FOY  POUR  DEVOIB. 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  51 

" Hullo,"  said  Grace,  "what's  all  this?  I  rather  think 
I've  seen  this  before." 

' '  I  rather  think  you  have. ' ' 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  you've  gone  and  got  engaged?" 
Dodo  nodded.  "Engaged  to  Mr.  Auburn?" 

"Yes'm.    D 'you  mind?" 

' '  This — this  is  news. ' '  Grace  seized  hold  of  a  chair  and 
sat  down.  ' '  Dodo,  are  you — are  you  sure  he  was  serious  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  I  am/'  said  Dodo  with  asperity,  "perfectly 
serious — and  don't  you  think  you're  rather  rude?" 

"Dare  say — can't  help  it.  I  never  should  have  thought 
it  of  him.  So  that 's  why  you  two  sneaked  off  into  the  gar 
den,  was  it?  I  suppose  we  were  absolute  idiots  not  to  see." 

"There  wasn't  anything  to  see.  I  never  was  so  startled 
in  my  life,  Grace !  I  hadn  't  the  faintest  idea  he  was  going 
to— to " 

"Didn't  you  know  he  liked  you?" 

"I  didn't  know  I  knew  he  liked  me." 

"Oh,  you're  too  subtle  for  me.  I  say,  Dodo:  was  it  he 
who  sent  you  that  frock ?"  Dodo  nodded.  "There,  I  knew 
it!  It  came  into  my  head  this  morning,  but  I  thought  it 
was  a  wild  flight  of  imagination.  How  did  he  manage  it  ?  " 

"He  stole  my  photograph  out  of  Roden's  room  and  sent 
it  to  Pasquin's,  with  my  height  and  general  description. 
He  was  here,  you  know,  the  day  Mabel  Blandford  came  to 
tea,  when  she  was  what  he  calls  so  infernally  patronizing, 
and  it  seems  to  have  rankled  ever  since.  I  taxed  him  with 
it:  he  wouldn't  own  up  at  first,  but  he  couldn't  deny  it — 
he's  a  truthful  person — and  I  soon  got  it  out  of  him.  He 
declined  to  tell  me  what  he  paid  for  it,  though. ' ' 

"Well,  well,"  said  Grace,  rubbing  her  nose,  "it  was  very 
nice  of  him.  But  are  you  really  going  to  marry  him?" 

"Rather!" 

"What  for?" 

"Ten  thousand  a  year,  Grace  Trevor,  and  you  ask  me 
what  for?" 


52  AN    ORDEAL    OF   HONOR 

"Rat!"  said  Grace  bluntly.  "Do  you  really  like  him, 
Dodo?" 

"You  see  it's  so  sudden.  Till  to-night  I  regarded  him 
as  a  brother " 

"Oh!" 

"Well,  more  or  less — and  then  when  I  found  he  didn't 
regard  me  as  a  sister  it  was  so  exciting  that  I  was  unable  to 
concentrate  my  thoughts  at  all.  Gracde." 

"Well?" 

"Did  any  one  ever  kiss  you?" 

Grace  shook  her  head. 

"Then  we  can't  compare  notes,"  said  Dodo,  disap 
pointed.  "You've  no  idea  how  queer  it  is.  Parts  of  it 
are — oh,  thank  goodness  Roddy  didn't  hear  me  say  that. 
It's  on  our  black  list." 

Grace  laughed:  but  she  soon  grew  grave  again. 

"You'll  have  to  make  out  a  black  list  for  Mr.  Auburn 
now." 

"So  I  shall:  it'll  begin  with  a  D." 

"You  don't  sound  overjoyed.  Don't  you  want  to  be 
married?" 

* '  Oh  yes, ' '  Dodo  said,  crossing  one  slender  knee  over  the 
other  and  clasping  her  hands  about  them,  "I  want  to  be 
married,  and  go  to  Paris,  and  have  kimonos  and  motors  and 
bisques  and  bechamels  and  things.  But  I'm  rather  sorry 
about  going  away  from  home.  I've  always  stayed  here  to 
look  after  the  boys,  and  I  can't  bear  to  think  what  they'll 
do  without  me.  Aline  never  gets  up  unless  she's  called, 
and  they  can't  call  her — it  wouldn't  be  proper.  And  who'll 
cook  the  supper  on  her  evening  out  ? ' ' 

"Roddy?" 

"He  can't  make  anything  except  an  omelette;  and  he 
can't  even  make  an  omelette  without  breaking  more  eggs 
than  you  can  get  into  the  frying-pan." 

"Well,  you  can't  jilt  Mr.  Auburn  to  stay  and  cook  the 
supper.  Besides,  they'll  get  on  all  right — people  always 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  53 

do.    I  Ve  known  heaps  of  cases  where  the  family  prop  got 

married " 

" Without  detriment  to  the  family  property.  I  know: 
it's  as  the  poet  says — 

'Trust  me,  To-day's  Most  Indispensables ' 

I  quoted  that  to  Mabel  Blandford  once,  and  she  looked 
rather  grave :  I  think  she  thought  it  meant  trousers.  Dear 
me,  I'm  afraid  that's  vulgar:  I  hope  I  shan't  catch  the  in 
fection  from  Charles.  Doesn't  it  sound  droll  to  hear  me 
calling  him  Charles?  My  Charles!"  She  stretched  out  her 
arms  with  a  rapturous  expression.  "Or  as  thus:  'Charles 
darling!'  Or  again:  'My  own,  sweet  Charlie!'  What  are 
you  looking  so  pensive  about?  I  thought  you  would  be 
pleased.  Are  you  cross  because  I'm  not  sentimental?" 

"I  don't  know  how  sentimental  you  may  be :  I  know  you 
jolly  well  wouldn't  tell  me  if  you  were,"  Grace  retorted 
with  more  energy  than  elegance.  ' '  I  'm  not  cross. ' ' 

"What  are  you,  then?  Worrying  over  Boden  having  to 
cook  the  dinner?" 

"No,  donkey!" 

"I  think  you  might  be  more  respectful  to  the  future 
Lady  Auburn." 

"That's  what  I  don't  like,"  Grace  said  passionately,  the 
color  coming  into  her  face  in  the  heat  of  her  spirit.  "I 
don't  like  it:  I  can't  bear  it.  You  don't  know  what  Sir 
Charles  is  like." 

' '  My  goodness ! ' '  said  Dodo,  turning  round  from  the  win 
dow  to  gaze  at  her  friend,  "what's  the  matter  with  you? 
Little  pots  are  soon  hot,  Gracie." 

Grace  was  plaiting  her  feelings  into  her  pigtail,  and  did 
not  reply.  In  a  more  serious  tone  Dodo  resumed,  after  a 
short  silence:  "I  think  you  ought  to  say  more  than  that, 
after  saying  anything  at  all.  You've  been  simmering  for 
weeks — ever  since  he  came  down  here :  and  so  has  Charles 
himself.  Tell  me— I  shan  't  mind. ' ' 


5*  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

"It's  only  this,  that  I'd  rather  you  weren't  going  to 
marry  the  son  of  a  dissolute  old  sot  like  Sir  Charles  Auburn. 
It 's  hereditary. ' ' 

"But  Charles  doesn't  drink,  or  dissolve  either." 

"The  sins  of  the  fathers  ..." 

"H'm.    Unto  the  third  generation,  do  you  mean?" 

"Yes." 

"I'm  not  afraid.  If  we  had  a  baby,  and  it  took  to 

drink — I  mean "  Dodo  rippled  into  laughter — "Well, 

but,  seriously,  if  when  he  grew  up  he  wanted  to  resemble 
his  grandfather,  we  could  fight  it,  couldn't  we?" 

"Doctors  say " 

"Pooh !  I  don't  care  a  fig  about  doctors.  You  can  prove 
anything  in  your  head.  Roddy  and  I  once  for  fun  worked 
out  a  diet  scheme  of  things  that  wouldn't  give  you  microbes, 
and  by  the  time  we'd  collated  three  or  four  standard  au 
thorities  we  had  nothing  left  except  sterilized  warm  water 
and  toffee." 

"Are  you  in  love  with  him,  Dodo?" 

"Why?" 

"Because,  if  you  are,  I  won't  say  another  word.  There 
is  a  risk  in  marrying  a  man  who  comes  of  such  a  stock  as 
Mr.  Auburn  does:  but  if  you  really  love  him  it's  a  risk 
that's  worth  taking.  But  if  you  don't " 

"Why  shouldn't  I?    He  isn't  bad-looking." 

"He's  very  handsome,  and  a  very  good  dancer,  and  his 
clothes  are  perfectly  cut,"  said  Grace,  with  a  passing  tinge 
of  irony:  "and  I  dare  say  he  can  be  rather  fascinating 
when  he  takes  the  trouble.  But  you  won 't  be  always  danc 
ing  the  two-step.  You  see,  Dodo,  you're  very  young — I 
think  we  all  forget  sometimes  how  young  you  are :  you  're 
so  old  in  some  ways.  But  you're  not  old  in  experience  of 
men  of  Charles  Auburn's  type." 

"What  type  do  you  mean?" 

"Idle,  irresponsible:  changeable." 

"Is  that  how  you  read  him?"  said  Dodo. 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  55 

She  rose  up,  wound  her  arm  round  Gracie,  and  kissed 
her — to  the  great  surprise  of  that  young  lady:  for  their 
friendship  was  not  of  the  reputed  feminine  type.  "Dear 
darling,  I  love  you,  anyhow.  You're  the  very  best  old 
Grace  that  ever  did  its  hair  in  pigtails,  and  it's  a  shame  to 
keep  you  up  so  late  and  spoil  your  complexion,  but  I'm 
going  to  bed  now,  so  you  can,  too.  Good-night." 

She  was  out  of  the  room  before  Grace  had  realized  that 
she  was  going.  Misa  Trevor  stood  long  by  the  open  win 
dow  :  it  was  high  dawn,  and  the  birds  were  twittering  in  the 
elms  near  by  before  she  went  to  bed.  Her  eyes  were 
wistful. 


VI. 


IT  is  sad,  but  true,  that  when  Auburn  awoke  on  the  morn 
ing  after  the  dance,  he  wished  Dodo  and  all  her  family 
in  Jericho. 

He  would  have  liked  to  run  away.  Unfortunately,  things 
had  gone  too  far.  "I  must  have  been  drunk !"  he  groaned. 
This  theory,  however,  fell  through ;  the  most  temperate  of 
men,  he  had  not  touched  wine  except  to  finish,  from  purely 
sentimental  motives,  the  remains  of  Dodo's  glass  of  cham 
pagne.  How  dreary  it  looked,  that  sentiment,  in  the  cold 
light  of  retrospect !  He  was  pathetically  candid  with  him 
self.  "She  won't  jilt  me,"  he  said;  "they  never  do  when 
you  want  them  to.  And  how  the  dickens  am  I  to  tell 
Roland?  I  swear  she's  not  even  pretty !"  Auburn's  medi 
tations  were  entirely  bare  of  chivalrous  delicacy :  he  writhed 
like  a  man  in  chains.  Possibly  such  a  frame  of  mind  is  not 
so  rare  as  one  would  like  to  believe,  on  that  dismal  To-mor 
row  morning. 

Towards  twelve  o'clock,  while  he  was  smoking  in  the 
studio  over  a  novel,  Dodo  came  home  from  the  Trevors'. 
He  heard  her  voice  in  the  hall,  but  stayed  where  he  was, 
feeling  an  immense  disinclination  to  face  her.  Vain  delay ! 
The  voice  drew  nearer,  that  rapid  gay  utterance  so  char 
acteristic  of  Miss  Carminow:  she  was  giving  directions  in 
French  to  Aline  about  the  evening  meal.  "  Je  vais  chercher 
M.  Koden,"  he  heard  her  say:  and  the  door  opened  and  in 
she  came — and  paused.  Apparently  she  was  not  prepared 
to  find  Monsieur  Charles.  "Oh,  there  you  are!"  she  said 
with  striking  originality. 

Auburn  threw  his  book  away.  Ought  he  to  kiss  herT 

56 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  57 

Certainly  not — he  had  (thank  heaven)  only  that  moment 
finished  his  cigar.  But,  short  of  a  kiss,  what  was  the  ortho 
dox  greeting  ?  ' '  Yes,  here  I  am, ' '  he  replied,  ' '  in  fact,  here 
we  both  are. ' ' 

A  dim  gleam  came  into  Dodo's  eyes.  "It's  a  very  fine 
morning,"  she  observed. 

"Lovely,"  assented  Auburn.  "I  hope  you're  not  very 
tired." 

"Not  at  all,  thank  you,"  said  Dodo.  "We  had  ham  and 
eggs  for  breakfast." 

"Ham  and ?" 

"Eggs.  It  doesn't  matter  what  you  say,  so  long  as  you 
say  something." 

"Dodo !" 

She  had  fled :  she  was  in  the  hall,  where  Aline  was  scrub 
bing  the  doorsteps.  A  trail  of  perfume  from  the  mignonette 
tucked  into  her  belt,  the  echo  of  a  naughty  laugh,  these 
were  all  that  remained  of  her.  Auburn  passed  his  hand 
across  his  forehead.  "What  an  ass  I  was  to  have  that 
cigar ! "  he  said. 

He  followed  her,  and  found  her  framed  in  dusty  sun 
shine,  which  streamed  across  the  raftered  hall  from  the 
wide-open  doorway.  "Enfin,  c'est  fini,  n'est-ce  pas?"  she 
was  saying:  "les  petits  pois  pour  ce  soir,  avec  du 
beurre  .  .  .  beaucoup,  beaucoup  de  beurre. .  .  . " 

"Bien,  ma'm'selle." 

"Dodo,"  said  Auburn,  "I'm  going  in  to  see  Mr.  Car- 
minow. ' ' 

"Bien,  monsieur,"  said  Dodo. 

As  often  happens  in  this  life  of  ours,  Auburn 's  interview 
with  Mr.  Carminow  was  more  amusing  in  retrospect  than 
at  the  time.  A  very  unworldly  man,  the  Vicar  knew  little 
about  Auburn 's  financial  condition :  in  fact,  no  thought  of 
settlements  crossed  Ms  mind  till  Auburn  himself  introduced 
the  topic.  It  was  some  time  before  he  could  be  got  to  be 
lieve  that  Auburn  was  in  earnest,  and  when  that  fact  did 


58  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

dawn  upon  Mr.  Carminow  he  did  not  go  out  of  his  way  to 
flatter  so  eligible  a  son-in-law;  on  the  contrary,  though 
courteous  as  a  Christian  should  be,  he  was  openly  regretful. 

"To  you  personally  I  have  no  objection  at  all,"  he  ex 
plained,  "in  fact  the  very  reverse."  (Auburn  had  told 
him  candidly  that  he  was  an  agnostic  and  the  son  of  a 
scamp;  but  these  things  did  not  affect  the  Vicar's  peculiar 
philosophy.)  "There  is  no  one  I  would  rather  adopt  into 
my  family,  if  I  wanted  to  adopt  any  one  into  my  family. 
But  I  do  not,  and  that's  the  truth  of  it.  Old  men  are  often 
selfish,  my  dear  Charles.  You  see,  you're  going  to  steal 
my  one  ewe  lamb;  and  I  can  tell  you  frankly,  if  I  had 
known  what  would  have  come  of  it,  I'd  have  forbidden  you 
the  house." 

"Can't  you  trust  me  to  make  her  happy,  sir?"  asked 
Auburn. 

"Oh  yes;  but  the  point  is  I  want  her  to  make  me  happy," 
explained  the  Vicar. 

He  put  Auburn  through  a  close  catechism,  and  preached 
him  a  most  disconcerting  little  sermon  on  the  duties  of  the 
married  state,  Auburn  keeping  his  temper  with  an  effort : 
at  once  shy  and  proud,  he  hated  to  be  questioned.  In  the 
end,  Mr.  Carminow  gave  an  unwilling  and  provisional 
consent. 

"Of  course  you  won't  think  of  marrying  for  the  next 
year  or  two, ' '  he  said.  * '  Dodo  is  far  too  young  at  present ; 
she  is  a  mere  child.  You  must  wait  till  she  is  twenty-one  at 
least,  and  that  will  give  us  all  time  to  know  more  of  you, 
my  dear  boy,  and  of  your  father  too ;  for  I  don't  at  all  like 
the  idea  of  your  not  getting  on  with  him.  He  may  not  be 
in  all  respects  quite  what  he  ought  to  be,  but  still  you  are 
his  son,  and  you  must  forgive  me  if  I  am  inclined  to  fancy 
there  may  be  faults  on  both  sides.  I  think  a  great  deal  of 
the  family  tie,  Charles.  I  am  unfashionable  enough  to 
believe  in  filial  duty.  I  should  not  like  one  of  my  boys  to 
speak  of  me  as  you  speak  of  your  father." 


AN    ORDEAL    OF   HONOR  59 

Lunch  brought  a  change,  but  hardly  for  the  better. 
Roden  was  grave,  Caron  sardonic,  Bernard's  face  a  study 
in  cold  dislike :  Dickie  alone  was  whole-hearted  in  congratu 
lation — Dickie,  the  fool  of  the  family ! — and  the  prevalent 
feeling  of  constraint  was  not  lessened  by  the  fact  that  Dodo 
and  her  brothers  were  plainly  at  war.  The  meal  over,  Miss 
Carminow  fled  to  her  own  room.  Roden  drifted  into  the 
garden,  and  there  Auburn  presently  joined  him. 

"Why  are  you  all  so  sick  about  this?"  he  asked  without 
preface. 

"Various  reasons,"  answered  Roden  the  laconic. 

' '  Better  speak  frankly. ' ' 

"She's  too  young  for  you,  and  you're  too  rich  for  her." 

"You're  an  unworldly  family,  don't  you  think?" 

"We  have  certain  ideas." 

"Anything  more?" 

"Sir  Charles." 

Auburn  winced.  "Damn  Sir  Charles!  With  luck,  he'll 
die  soon. ' ' 

"I  know  it's  no  business  of  mine,"  Roden  said,  "but  I 
wish  you  wouldn't  swear  at  him.  It  does  sound  so  very 
dreadful." 

1 '  Is  that  all  ?  "  Auburn  asked,  after  a  pause  during  which 
he  decided  not  to  lose  his  temper. 

"Also  you  call  yourself  an  agnostic,  don't  you?" 

"Ah!  "said  Auburn. 

He  rolled  over  on  his  back,  so  that  he  could  watch 
Roden 's  face.  "You're  not  bigoted,  Roden?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  blame  you,"  said  Roden,  slowly  and  dis 
connectedly.  "It's  not  your  fault.  Still,  one  would 
rather.  .  .  .  Religion  counts  for  so  much  in  some  lives. 
The  Babe  was  born  religious.  She  .  .  .  will  .  .  .  see 
God  in  everything.  You,  if  any  trouble  comes,  will  .  .  . 
have  a  bad  time,  Auburn.  You  will  be  beating  your  head 
against  a  wall.  That  will  be  hard  for  you  and  hard  for 
Dodo." 


60  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

"You  see  God  in  everything  yourself,  don't  you?"  said 
Auburn  in  a  conversational  tone.  His  deep,  unsatisfied 
eyes  dragged  an  answer  out  of  Roden. 

"I  suppose  so." 

"I  wish  you'd  give  me  the  receipt.  Would  prayer  and 
fasting  do  it?  .  .  .  You  really  are  certain  of  a  future 
life?" 

' '  Certain.    Aren  't  you  ? " 

"Quite — that  there  isn't  any." 

Auburn  turned  over  again,  his  fingers  plucking  at  the 
grass. 

"You  believe  in  it  all — Christ,  Son  of  God,  born  of  a 
Virgin?" 

'  '  Quia  impossible  ? ' ' 

"What,  miracles  and  all?" 

Roden  smiled.  "By  Jove!"  said  Auburn,  "how  do  you 
doit?" 

"That's  what  I  should  like  to  know,"  said  Roden. 
"Candidly,  Auburn,  you  are  at  least  an  equal  mystery  to 
me.  How  can  you  live  in  this  world,  believing  that  there 's 
no  other  ?  Or,  if  you  can  face  extinction  for  yourself — and 
it  takes  some  facing — how  can  you  face  it  for  others — for 
Dodo,  say,  if  you  really  are  fond  of  her?  What  do  you 
believe  in — anything?" 

"In  my  dinner." 

"That's  an  exhaustive  creed.  Do  you  put  marriage  on 
the  same  footing?" 

"I  never  thought  about  it." 

"Never  thought  about  it!  You  never  do  think  about  it, 
or  anything  else  of  the  sort.  You're  as  little  introspective 
as  any  man  I've  ever  known." 

Auburn  sat  up,  cross-legged  and  scowling :  his  lean  brown 
face  expressing  a  desperate  effort  in  self -analysis. 

"I  gave  up  thinking  about  myself  some  twenty  years 
ago :  did  it  more  or  less  deliberately :  sheer,  flat,  violent  in 
difference  was  the  only  thing  that  would  carry  me  through. 


AN   ORDEAL   OF   HONOR  61 

Mind  you,  I've  not  had  altogether  plain  sailing  in  my  life." 
He  waited  a  moment,  tried  to  say  to  Roden  part  of  what 
he  had  said  to  Dodo  of  the  years  under  Sir  Charles'  hand, 
found  that  he  could  not  do  it,  and  went  on:  "So  far  as  I 
can  read  myself,  I've  not  a  particle  of  faith  in  me.  I  don't 
hate  the  Christians — I've  no  grudge  against  them;  on  the 
contrary,  it  touches  my  imagination  to  see  people  praying. 
But  it  doesn't  touch  anything  deeper  than  imagination.  I 
needn't  tell  you  that  I  shan't  argue  the  point  with  Dodo. 
If  she  likes  to  believe  in  a  reunion  after  death,  let  her !  I 
could  as  soon  believe  in  Balaam's  ass  or  Jonah's  whale,  but 
I've  no  desire  to  proselytize.  But  I  do  believe  in  this  life, 
and  not  from  the  sensual  standpoint,  either.  You  Chris 
tians  are  apt  to  think  that  we  pagans  are  necessarily  sen 
sualists  :  I  deny  it.  I  've  seen  women  ten  times  handsomer 
than  your  sister,  but  I  didn't  care  a  straw  for  them:  I  do 
for  her.  I  dare  say,  if  you  threw  your  weight  into  the 
wrong  scale,  you  could  make  Mr.  Carminow  refuse  his  con 
sent.  Don't  do  it,  will  you?  We  should  win  in  the  long- 
run,  but  I  don't  want  to  waste  time." 

"Eternity  thundering  at  the  doors?" 

"Eh?" 

"At  my  back  I  always  hear, 
Time's  winged  chariots  hurrying  near," 

quoted  Roden,  gravely.    "I  see  your  point." 
"Just  so:  I'm  thirty-five  already.    Half  my  time's  gone, 

and — there  is  no  extension  of  leave." 
"What  a  pleasing  notion!" 
" Ah !    I'm  not  introspective,"  said  Auburn  with  a  light 

laugh. 


yn. 

4  4  T  BEG  your  pardon,  sir." 

JL  Eoden  paused  with  the  gate  in  his  hand.  He  was 
on  his  way  home  from  tennis  at  the  Trevors',  and  the  per 
son  who  had  accosted  him  at  his  own  door  was  a  slight, 
undersized  man  of  thirty,  with  a  thin,  brown  face,  and  the 
bearing  of  a  gentleman's  servant.  "Yes?"  said  Koden, 
"what  is  it?" 

"May  I  ask,  sir,  if  you  are  one  of  the  young  Mr. 
Carminows?" 

"I  used  to  be." 

"I  have  a  letter,  sir,  for  my  master,  Mr.  Auburn." 

"What  then — do  you  want  me  to  give  it  to  him?" 

"If  you  would  be  so  good,  sir.  I've  been  up  to  the  house, 
but  the  maid  told  me  my  master  was  out,  and  I  hardly  cared 
to  leave  it  with  her:  it's  an  important  letter." 

"But  where  do  you  come  from?"  Eoden  asked,  becom 
ing  sensible  of  the  strangeness  of  a  man  thus  springing  up 
from  nowhere  with  a  letter  in  his  hand,  "not  by  train, 
surely?" 

"I  am  at  an  inn  at  Countisford,  sir,  where  Mr.  Auburn 
told  me  to  wait  for  him.  I  am  his  body-servant :  he  gen 
erally  takes  me  about  with  him.  I  have  been  sending  on 
the  rest  of  his  correspondence,  but  I  did  not  care  to  trust 
this  into  the  post  a  second  time.  I  know  he'll  like  to  have 
it  as  soon  as  may  be. ' ' 

"Why  not  wait  at  the  house  till  he  comes  in,  then?  He's 
sure  to  be  home  to  tea. ' ' 

The  man  shook  his  head.  "I  must  get  back  to  Countis 
ford,  sir.  Mr.  Charles  might  be  riding  over,  and  I  shouldn't 

62 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  63 

like  to  have  him  do  that  and  me  not  there.  But  I  feel  sure, 
sir,  if  you  will  excuse  me,  that  the  letter '11  be  safe  with 
you." 

Somewhat  amused,  Roden  accepted  his  commission,  and 
the  letter  was  extracted  from  a  leathern  pocket-book  and 
duly  handed  over :  a  large,  square,  white  envelope,  ad 
dressed  in  a  large,  square,  imperfectly  educated  hand. 
This  done,  the  faithful  servant  got  on  his  bicycle,  touched 
his  cap  to  Roden,  and  rode  away. 

' '  Hullo,  Dickie !    Is  Auburn  in  yet  ?  " 
"He's  gone  up  the  hill  with  Dodo  and  Caron." 
" Par-r-rbleu !     I  wish  he  weren't  so  beastly  energetic. 
Rather  mean  of  Caron  to  go  too!" 

Dickie  grinned.  * '  Dodo  made  him :  said  she  didn  't  want 
to  spoon. ' ' 

"Queer  little  animal,  our  Dodo!"  was  Roden 's  philo 
sophic  comment,  as  he  set  his  weary  legs  to  climb  the  steep 
footpath  through  the  orchard.  A  couple  of  hundred  feet 
above  the  Vicarage  chimneys,  he  came  out  upon  a  wild 
hilly  region,  where  the  long  grass  under  the  fruit  trees-  gave 
place  to  moorland  turf,  sparse  and  flower-set.  He  had  to 
go  still  higher  before  he  came  upon  those  he  wanted :  Dodo 
sitting  on  a  shelf  of  turf,  Auburn  as  usual  supine  at  her 
feet,  Caron  cross-legged  under  a  bush  and  sketching  the 
pair  of  them.  There  was  a  good  deal  of  wind  blowing :  the 
opposite  hills  were  nearly  of  the  same  color  as  the  clouds, 
and  they  were  slaty  blue :  the  village  lay  below,  winding 
with  the  winding  valley,  picked  out  in  the  silver  of  sunlit 
windows,  and  threaded  here  and  there  with  smoke :  the  sky 
too  was  silver-pale  where  it  was  clear,  but  the  large  vague 
clouds  near  the  sun  were  rimmed  with  burning  wire.  Sun 
shine  and  shadow  never  prevailed  over  the  whole  landscape 
at  once,  but  kept  flying  after  each  other,  as  if  chariots  of 
iron  and  chariots  of  gold  were  being  driven  by  the  wind 
over  the  tops  of  the  hills  alternately. 


64  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

At  a  glance  Roden  perceived  that  the  spiritual  atmo 
sphere  was  full  as  sunny  as  the  natural.  Caron  was  hap 
pily  absorbed  in  his  art.  Dodo's  brow  was  placid.  Auburn's 
smile  was  that  of  a  man  who  is  in  charity  with  all  mankind. 
Roden  looked  over  the  artist's  shoulder,  and  uttered  a 
startled  exclamation. 

"What's  up?"  asked  Auburn  lazily. 

"You've  spoiled  it  now,"  Caron  said,  "but  I  don't  mind. 
I  don't  want  to  retouch  it.  "Why  should  a  man  bother  about 
the  bare  body?  The  soul's  always  bare,  when  you've  eyes 
to  see  it.  When  I  do  things  like  that  I  forget  that  I'm  a 
hunchback."  He  stretched  his  arms  above  his  head  and 
laughed  softly.  Roden  silently  held  up  the  sketch.  The 
shadows  of  a  bare  room,  an  iron-barred  window,  and  a  man 
lying  on  the  bare  floor:  Auburn  in  every  lineament,  but 
Auburn  struggling  in  hard  endurance  to  keep  down  the 
rising  wildness  of  terror. 

' '  Good ! ' '  said  Auburn  placidly. 

"Give  me,"  said  Dodo. 

She  took  the  block  from  Roden,  and  in  a  trice  the  frag 
ments  of  Caron's  sketch  were  showering  down  the  wind. 
Caron  only  laughed.  It  was  done,  and  he  cared  no  more  for 
it.  Dodo  was  methodical  and  unrepentant. 

"I  say,  Auburn,"  said  Roden,  "do  you  mind  getting  up 
for  a  moment  ? ' ' 

"Intensely.    Why?" 

"Because  I  can't  kick  a  man  when  he's  down,  can  I?" 

"Eh?    What's  up?" 

"You've  been  tampering  with  Dodo's  affections,  and 
basely  betraying  my  young  sister's  confidence.  What  do 
you  mean  by  carrying  on  a  clandestine  correspondence 
under  our  very  noses,  and  using  your  miserable  flunkey  as 
a  go-between?" 

"What  about  my  flunkey?"  asked  Auburn,  sitting  up. 

Roden  handed  him  the  letter  with  the  tips  of  his  finger 
and  thumb.  "Hardened  reprobate!"  he  said,  as  Auburn 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  65 

after  a  glance  at  the  handwriting  tore  it  open  with  a  startled 
expression.  ''He  doesn't  even  blush.  If  you've  any 
proper  pride,  Dodo " 

"I  hope  it  isn't  bad  news,  Charles?"  said  Dodo.  "Do 
sit  down  and  be  quiet,  Roddy,  you're  like  a  gnat  buzzing." 

"Here's  a  go!"  said  Auburn,  laying  down  his  letter  with 
a  perpleved  expression.  "I  thought  it  was  too  sunny  to 
last.  This  is  rather  awkward,  Dodo." 

"Italian  wife?"  inquired  Roden  cheerfully. 

"Don't  buzz,  Roddy.    What  is  it,  old  boy  ?" 

"It's  the  venerated  parent  on  the  war-path.  I'll  read 
it  aloud  if  you  like :  our  family  affairs  are  generally  trans 
acted  in  public." 

In  a  very  sober  voice,  Auburn  proceeded  to  do  as  he  had 
said. 

"ROSE  COTTAGE,  AUBUBN, 
"July  1st. 

"SiR, — The  Devil  is  come  Abroad,  having  great  wrath 
because  he  knoweth  that  he  hath  but  a  short  Time.  He 
hath  broken  6  Wineglasses  and  2  Decanters  through  Davis 
'being  frightened  of  his  bad  words  and  falling  downstairs 
with  the  Tray.  He  is  going  up  shortly  to  find  You,  and 
Davis  tells  me  he  is  like  a  Madman  when  he  talks  about 
You.  Piers  writes  You  are  staying  with  Friends.  I  am 
writing  same  time  to  Piers  as  I  do  not  know  Your  Address 
to  bid  him  carry  this  to  You  direct.  For  dear  Sir  I  fear  he 
will  not  have  any  scruple  to  thrust  himself  upon  Them  and 
make  a  To  do  as  You  will  remember  at  Mr.  Carew's. 

"Piers  writes  You  are  thinking  of  getting  married.  Now 
my  lamb  if  this  is  true  there  is  a  thing  You  ought  to  know. 
Do  not  entangle  Yourself  with  the  Young  Lady  till  You 
have  seen  and  spoken  with  me.  I  have  no  skill  to  write,  but 
I  would  fain  see  Your  face  again,  Who  are  in  some  sort 
my  Son,  and  I  will  speak  what  I  cannot  write. 

"Sir  Charles  hath  been  having  gout  in  his  Toe  lately, 
but  I  fear  it  is  better  and  will  not  come  on  again. 


60  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

"As  You  so  kindly  ask  after  Jeannie,  She  is  no  better, 
but  sends  Her  duty,  as  I  do  also. 

"Your  most  obedient  humble  Servant, 

' '  LESBIA  BURNET.  ' ' 

Biting  her  lip  to  repress  a  smile,  Dodo  took  the  letter 
from  Auburn,  and  smoothed  it  out  on  her  knee.  "Who 
writes  ? ' '  she  asked. 

"My  foster-mother  and  nurse:  she  lives  with  her  sister 
in  a  cottage  just  outside  our  gates. ' ' 

' '  Is  she  mad  ? ' '  asked  Caron.    Auburn  laughed. 

"None  less  so.  I  have  complete  faith  in  Lesbia's  judg 
ment — worse  luck." 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  you'll  go?"  Dodo  asked. 

"I  shall  indeed,  if  it  were  only  to  prevent  him  from 
coming  up  here.  You  have  no  room  for  Sir  Charles." 

"We  could  easily  put  him  up "  Dodo  began,  taking 

these  words  literally,  but  Auburn  laughed  in  her  face. 
"Thanks,"  he  said  dryly,  "but  you  don't  'remember  Mr. 
Carew's.'  I  do.  Once  is  enough." 

"Let's  see,  when  did  you  write  to  him?"  asked  Roden. 

"The  day  before  yesterday.  I  wonder  what  it  is  that's 
riled  him?  He's  been  at  me  to  marry  any  time  these  ten 
years.  There's  no  pleasing  some  people." 

"What  does  she  mean  by  'getting  entangled'?  She's 
rather  rude,  I  think,"  said  Dodo,  referring  to  the  letter. 
"And  what  do  you  suppose  her  secret  is?" 

"Can't  say:  it's  the  first  I've  heard  of  it." 

"What's  she  like?" 

"Fifty-five:  a  widow  since  she  was  thirty.  She  was  my 
mother's  maid  before  my  mother  married  Sir  Charles,  and 
she  married  my  grandfather's  soldier  servant.  They  had 
one  child,  a  boy,  born  the  same  day  that  I  was :  it  only  lived 
a  week.  She'll  never  get  over  that,  but  I  don't  think  she 
regrets  the  late  Alexander.  I've  heard  her  describe 
him  as  'a  poor  lash  thing,  like  a  jenneting  in  a  wet 


67 

summer.'  After  my  mother's  death  she  settled  down  in  a 
house  close  to  our  gates  with  her  half-sister,  Jeannie,  a  girl 
of  half  her  age,  very  pretty  but  very  delicate.  Lesbia 
mothers  her  sternly.  Lesbia 's  uncommonly  handsome,  if 
that 's  anything  to  the  point :  tall,  with  iron-grey  hair  and 
dark-blue  eyes  and  a  splendid  pair  of  shoulders.  Has  a 
will  of  her  own,  too,  and  a  temper." 

* '  Formidable !    Why  does  she  write  in  that  queer  way  ? ' ' 

"She  writes  as  she  talks,  a  dialect  of  her  own  coinage. 
The  foundation  is  scriptural:  the  late  Alexander  con 
tributed  a  dash  of  Scots,  and  association  with  my  mother 
added  a  dash  of  bookish,  cultivated  English.  But  Lesbia 's 
not  educated — she  can  only  read  and  write.  Jeannie 
talks  like  a  book.  My  mother's  family  made  a  pet  of 
her  and  sent  her  to  school,  and  the  result  is  that  when 
Lesbia  talks  Calvin  Jeannie  talks  Browning.  They're  an 
odd  pair." 

"They  are,  I  should  think.  And  shall  you  really  go 
down  there?" 

"In  the  car,"  Auburn.  "I  shall  be  there  and  back  in 
twelve  hours." 

"Well,  don't  be  long,"  said  Dodo  nonchalantly.  "I 
shall  be  so  bored. ' ' 

Auburn  sat  up,  threw  his  arm  around  her,  and  kissed  her. 
It  was  done  so  rapidly  that  Dodo  had  no  chance  to  protest, 
but  could  only  gaze  at  him  with  all  her  astonished  soul  in 
her  eyes.  Caron  screwed  up  his  face  as  though  he  were 
taking  medicine,  and  Koden  said,  "Well,  upon  my  word! 
Pray  don't  let  us  embarrass  you!" 

"My  dear  souls,  you  don't,"  Auburn  responded  cheer 
fully.  He  rose  up,  very  tall  and  erect,  from  his  couch  of 
turf.  "Farewell,  Dorothea!  I'm  off." 

"Why,  you're  not  going  now?" 

"I  never  take  risks  with  Sir  Charles." 

He  ran  down  the  hillside,  springing  from  tussock  to  tus 
sock,  from  ledge  to  ledge.  At  the  top  of  the  orchard  he 


68  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

turned,  waved  his  hand,  then  vanished  under  the  arcade  of 
the  trees. 

"Suppose  he  never  comes  back?"  said  Eoden  involun 
tarily. 

"Then  Dodo  will  regret  having  torn  up  an  essentially 
lifelike  imaginary  portrait." 

"Clever  boys!"  said  Dodo  indolently,  "how  well  you 
know  himl" 


vm. 

LATE  on  a  warm  grey  evening,  Lesbia  Burnet  stood 
with  her  arms  folded  along  the  top  of  her  garden  gate, 
looking  down  the  road,  which  was  already  turning  dark 
under  the  shade  of  July  woods.  Kose  Cottage  waa  a  small, 
square  house,  standing  in  a  plot  of  garden  where  flowers 
and  vegetables  throve  together:  it  lay  close  to  the  park 
gates  of  Auburn,  and  was  regarded  as  a  Naboth's  vineyard 
by  the  present  baronet.  Lesbia,  however,  slept  none  the 
worse  for  that.  Her  father  and  her  father's  father  had 
lived  in  it  before  her,  and  it  was  her  own:  she  loved  the 
red  roof,  the  latticed  windows,  the  giant  willow  that 
towered  up  behind  it,  and  the  dense  woods  that  shut  it  in. 
Artists  came  and  sketched  it — for  it  was  a  picturesque  old 
place — at  their  peril,  for  Lesbia  liked  privacy  and  was 
strong  in  the  arm.  Rich  content  swelled  in  her  bosom  when 
she  looked  round  her  small  domain. 

A  warm,  grey  evening:  the  great,  vague  clouds  tinged 
with  a  bluish  shade,  which  looked,  thought  the  weatherwise 
Lesbia,  like  thunder.  The  wind  had  dropped.  The  great 
elms  hung  down  their  leaves  without  stir  or  sigh.  Nothing 
was  to  be  seen  but  an  empty  curve  of  road,  perhaps  a  quar 
ter  of  a  mile  long,  bordered  on  either  side  by  the  tall  deer- 
fence  enclosing  the  dark  masses  of  the  Auburn  woods. 
Turning  away  disappointed,  Lesbia  walked  up  the  short 
path  between  the  red  summer  primroses  and  the  laden 
gooseberry  bushes,  and  went  into  the  house.  First  into  the 
hot  kitchen,  to  shift  a  saucepan  and  take  a  look  at  the  oven : 
then  along  a  flagged  passage  into  the  front  parlor,  arranged, 
in  defiance  of  etiquette,  as  the  living-room  of  an  invalid. 


70  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

There  was  a  large  folding  window,  thrown  wide  to  let  in 
the  airless  air :  there  were  curtains  of  pale  flowered  chintz, 
tapestried  armchairs,  books,  old-fashioned  china,  and  a 
handful  of  honeysuckle  thrust  into  a  specimen  glass.  Near 
the  window,  on  a  sofa  heaped  with  cushions,  lay  the  ailing 
girl  for  whom  all  these  pretty  things  had  been  gathered 
together:  Lesbia's  young  sister  Jeannie.  There  had  been 
others,  but  they  were  dead,  carried  off  by  premature  sick 
ness — the  same  whose  ravages  were  traceable  in  Jeannie 's 
haggard  face  and  hectic  color.  Only  Lesbia  herself,  in  her 
magnificent  strength,  had  escaped  the  dread  taint.  As  she 
came  in,  Jeannie  laid  down  her  book.  "Mr.  Charles  won't 
come  to-night,"  she  said  in  a  low,  somewhat  husky  voice. 

"I'll  sugar  your  porridge  if  you  say  that  again !"  Lesbia 
cried  out  resentfully.  "You  idle  thing,  you  might  as  well 
prophesy  smooth  things  as  the  other  sort — it's  not  much 
you  know  about  it,  that  I  can  see. ' ' 

"He'll  stay  up  in  the  Plain  and  make  love  to  his  pretty 
lady " 

"He's  not  such  a  fool,  then!" 

"And  put  your  letter  in  the  fire,"  finished  Jeannie, 
laughing  in  Lesbia's  angry  face.  "What's  it  to  him!  He's 
far  far  too  handsome  to  be  true." 

"I'll  take  your  books  away  if  you  talk  to  me  like  that," 
Lesbia  grumbled  out  as  she  went  to  light  the  lamp;  "or 
serve  you  as  I  did  the  chap  that  came  this  afternoon  while 
you  were  lying  down.  Did  you  hear  us  ?  I  wonder  at  that, 
for  he  made  noise  enough.  Sat  himself  down  in  the  road, 
he  did,  with  his  knickerbockers  and  his  camp-stool — you'll 
never  persuade  me  that  the  Lord  meant  all  these  artist  folk 
to  wear  knickerbockers:  if  He  did,  He'd  have  given  them 
calves  to  their  legs — and  brought  out  his  sketch-book  and 
began  to  paint  the  house!  Out  I  came  with  a  bucket  of 
water  to  tip  over  the  roses,  and  there  was  my  gentleman 
cap  in  hand  and  as  cool  as  impudence!" 

"What  did  you  say  to  him?" 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  71 

"D'you  think  I  was  going  to  speak  to  muck  like  that? 
'Twas  he  began  it.  'My  good  woman/  says  he,  and  with 
that  I  stopped  him.  'I'm  no  woman  of  yours,  unless  you're 
dead  and  buried  in  Woking  Cemetery,  which  is  too  good 
news  to  be  true.'  ' 

"You  had  him  there!" 

"Not  he!  Some  folks  are  such  fools  you  can't  have 
them,  and  he  was  that  sort :  he  thought  'twas  I  was  the  fool. 
'Madam,'  says  he,  'it's  only  a  way  of  speaking — I  meant  no 
harm.'  You're  to  observe  that  I  could  easily  have  taken 
him  across  my  knee  and  spanked  him,  but  I  didn't,  and  he 
went  on.  'In  plain  English,'  says  he,  'I'll  give  you  half  a 
crown  to  stand  in  the  porch  while  I  work  you  into  my 
sketch.'  'Let  me  look  at  the  sketch,'  says  I.  It  was  with 
out  form  and  void,  like  his  breeches.  'It's  worse  than  your 
manners,  my  good  man,'  says  I,  and  with  that  I  hit  the 
bucket  of  water  over  it,  and  came  away." 

"Well,  you  had  him  there,  anyhow,"  said  Jeannie  dryly. 
"But  you'd  better  mind  what  you're  about,  Lesbia,  or 
you  '11  have  people  calling  you  eccentric. ' '  She  turned  rest 
lessly,  and  stretched  out  her  hands  towards  the  window. 
"It's  a  hot  night,  isn't  it?" 

"Glooming  up  for  a  thunderstorm,  I  think.  Does  your 
head  ache  ? ' ' 

"A  little :  there's  such  a  hot,  dead  feeling  in  the  air  under 
all  these  trees.  I  heard  the  wind  going  in  the  tops  of  them, 
though,  before  you  came  in." 

"The  thunder  will  come  with  the  wind,  and  the  rain 
after  the  thunder:  it  will  do  a  lot  of  good,"  said  Lesbia. 
Again  she  walked  to  the  window  and  glanced  up  and  down 
the  road.  "To  think  I'm  going  to  see  my  boy  again  to 
night  !  I  'd  rather  have  my  tongue  torn  out  than  say  what 
I  've  got  to  say  to  him :  but  it  will  be  good  to  see  his  hand 
some  face  again,  for  all  that." 

"Much  obliged  for  the  compliment!" 

Entering  the  porch  just  as  Lesbia  went  to  the  window, 


73  AN   ORDEAL    OF   HONOR 

Auburn  had  walked  in  without  ceremony,  and  now  ap 
peared  in  the  doorway,  his  head  barely  clear  of  the  lintel, 
his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  a  merry  smile  on  his  lips. 
Jeannie  opened  her  mouth  to  a  silent  "0!"  of  surprise, 
pleasure,  and  some  less  obvious  emotion.  The  room  seemed 
suddenly  to  have  grown  smaller. 

"For  shame,  Mr.  Charles!"  said  Lesbia,  coloring  deeply 
from  vexation.  ' '  Is  it  of  you  that  I  'm  to  learn  to  lock  my 
doors  against  eavesdroppers?"  Making  him  a  slight 
curtsey,  she  drew  forward  a  chair.  "Will  you  please  to  sit 
down,  sir?  You've  walked,  I  suppose,  from  the  village." 

Auburn  shut  the  door  and  leaned  his  back  against  it. 
"Mr.  Charles  won't  sit  down  till  he's  addressed  in  a  proper 
way.  Allans,  Lesbia !  I  've  had  neither  tea  nor  dinner,  but 
if  you  won't  be  civil  I'll  go  to  the  station  and  kill  myself  on 
Bath  buns!" 

"That  you'll  not,  then,  when  I've  taken  the  pains  to  get 
supper  ready  for  you,"  retorted  Lesbia,  half  laughing :  and 
lifting  the  lamp  out  of  the  way,  she  began  to  set  the  table 
with  her  powerful,  capable  hands,  so  rapid  and  exact  in 
every  movement — the  sort  of  hands  that  would  not  be 
stronger  to  wield  a  hammer  than  delicate  in  nursing  a 
wren's  egg.  "There's  a  hash  of  venison  that  would  go  bad 
before  Jeannie  and  I  got  through  it,  and  such  a  dish  of 
peas  as  they  wouldn't  give  you  at  your  club,  and  some 
ungodly  bottled  beer  that  111  not  keep  in  the  cellar  a  day 
longer  for  fear  the  roof  should  fall  on  us — Bass  is  the  man 
that  made  it — him  that's  so  chief  with  the  Man  of  Wrath. 
Well,  and  how's  your  young  lady?" 

Auburn  was  used  to  Mrs.  Burnet's  inquisitorial  methods, 
and  remained  unblushing.  "Very  fit,  thanks:  she  sent  her 
love  to  you." 

"My  lamb,  you've  never  let  it  go  on  to  that?" 

"I  grieve  to  say  your  letter  arrived  a  day  behind  the 
fair.  I  was  already  entangled." 

Lesbia  set  her  silver  straight  without  a  word :  her  face 


73 

was  very  dark  for  a  moment,  but  resolutely  she  cleared  it. 
"I  wonder,"  she  said,  more  to  herself  than  to  Auburn, 
"how  an  unbeliever  gets  through  this  world.  I'd  go  mad 
if  I  thought  the  tangles  were  in  my  hands  to  clear. — Jeannie 
my  girl,  here  comes  the  storm :  finish  you  the  table  while  I 
see  to  the  dishing  up. ' ' 

She  went  out,  leaving  Auburn  alone  with  Jeannie,  who 
rose  and  went  on  with  her  preparations.  Auburn  threw 
himself  into  a  chair  to  watch  her.  She  had  Lesbia's  dex 
terity  though  not  her  strength,  and  it  was  pretty  to  see  her, 
with  her  long,  lean,  shadowy  fingers,  plaiting  up  a  damask 
napkin  into  a  little  white  ship. 

"Who's  that  for?"  asked  Auburn  idly. 

"Me,  I  think:  to  sail  away  in,  some  day." 

"I  wouldn't  sail  away  if  I  were  you:  I'd  stay  in  port." 

"Would  you?"  said  Jeannie,  smiling: 

Tainter  and  fainter  wreck  and  helmsman  loom, 
Still  standing  for  some  false,  impossible  shore.   .  .' 

It  was  a  great  man  that  wrote  that,  Mr.  Auburn:  a  man 
who  knew  what  it's  like  to  be  wrecked." 

"He  was  an  inspector  of  schools,"  said  Auburn.  "I'm 
sorry,  but  he  was. ' ' 

"I  know:  I've  read  his  life.  If  you  come  to  think  of  it, 
the  greatest  experiences  are  those  that  are  common  to  all 
men,  even  inspectors  of  schools — birth,  death,  bereave 
ment.  ' ' 

Thunder  pealing,  lightning  flashing  right  overhead  made 
a  strange  accompaniment  to  her  words.  The  wind  had  come 
with  the  thunder,  but  the  rain  was  not  yet  come :  the  trees 
were  bending  and  straining  and  rattling  their  dry  leaves, 
the  lower  branches  whitened  by  the  whirling  dust,  the  upper 
dark  against  the  incessant  glare  in  the  sky.  In  came  Lesbia, 
carrying  a  great  platter  of  venison,  smoking  hot,  in  one 
hand,  and  a  noble  dish  of  peas  in  the  other :  they  drew  up 
their  chairs  to  the  table  and  fell  to,  after  a  short  grace,  pro 
nounced  and  probably  composed  by  Mrs.  Burnet.  "Lord," 


74  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

said  she,  "grant  that  we  may  eat  with  thankfulness  and 
without  gluttony  these  Thy  creatures  of  meat  and  fruit; 
and  that  Thy  creatures  of  the  fields,  the  trees  and  the  crops 
and  the  animals,  and  Thy  tall  churches,  and  ships  at  sea, 
may  be  preserved  from  the  will  of  Thy  servant  the  Devil  in 
his  storm."  To  this  Jeannie  having  replied  "Amen,"  the 
venison  and  the  peas  were  discussed  with  a  good  relish. 
The  beer  was  for  Auburn's  use  alone:  his  hostess  (whose 
creed  would  have  taxed  the  brains  of  a  theological  college) 
and  Jeannie  confining  themselves  to  water. 

"And  now,"  said  Lesbia  when  the  meal  was  over  and  the 
table  cleared,  "Jeannie,  go  to  bed." 

Jeannie  rose  obediently.  "You'll  not  be  very  long?" 
she  asked. 

"Not  long." 

' '  Good-night,  Mr.  Auburn. ' ' 

"Good-night,  dear,"  said  Auburn  absently.  As  he  took 
her  hand,  she  looked  up  into  his  face  with  her  deep,  burn 
ing  eyes.  "Oh,"  she  said,  "how  like  you  are  to  your 
father,  sometimes!" 

She  drew  back.  Auburn,  who  had  had  some  idea  of  kiss 
ing  her,  looked  inquiringly  at  Lesbia,  who  shook  her  nead. 

"Let  her  go:  she's  tired  to-night,  and  the  thunder  makes 
her  fanciful.  Eun,  child,  and  slip  between  the  sheets: 
here's  rain  to  cool  the  air  and  make  you  sleep.  Come,  be 
off!" 

Jeannie  went  out  slowly,  with  the  lagging  footsteps  of 
fatigue.  Left  alone  with  Auburn,  Lesbia  still  found  a  thing 
or  two  to  do :  she  wound  the  clock,  wiped  up  a  few  drops  of 
water  spilled  on  the  cloth,  and  lifted  in  a  couple  of  plants 
that  had  stood  all  day  on  the  window-sill.  Auburn  watched 
her  proceedings  in  silent  amusement.  At  length  she  blew 
the  lamp  out,  and  sat  down  on  Jeannie 's  couch  under  the 
open  window.  The  storm  was  over  now,  and  the  wind  had 
gone  by :  the  air  came  in  slowly,  blessedly  cool,  smelling  of 
wet  grass  and  leaves.  They  heard  the  ceaseless  rushing  of 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  75 

the  rain,  the  steady  drip,  drip,  patter,  patter,  of  water 
falling  through  a  crack  in  the  gutter  under  the  eaves.  It 
was  close  on  ten  o'clock,  but  the  night  was  not  dark:  there 
was  a  small  moon  behind  the  clouds,  which  diffused  a  uni 
versal  grey  illumination,  scarcely  amounting  to  light,  cast 
ing  no  shadows,  yet  different  as  daylight  itself  from  the 
dark  of  a  moonless  night.  Drip,  drip,  patter,  patter,  patter. 
"Lesbia,"  said  Auburn,  "let's  get  it  over." 

"I  know  you're  not  one  of  those  that  like  to  be  kept  wait 
ing.  But  you  must  bear  with  me,  Charles;  I'm  not  so  young 
as  I  was.  Tell  me,  without  any  joking,  is  it  true  you're 
going  to  be  married  to  this  young  lady?" 

"Yes,  I  am." 

"Does  she  know  what  manner  of  man  your  father  was!" 

"She  knows  a  good  deal.    "Who  doesn't?" 

"You've  told  her  yourself?" 

"Yes,  before  we  became  engaged." 

"Charles,  there's  much  that  even  you  don't  know." 

"Oh,  come !"  said  Auburn  with  a  sudden  laugh,  "I  can't 
believe  that!  There's  little  room  for  expansion.  He  lies 
like  a  hatter,  he  swears  like  a  trooper,  and  he  drinks  like  a 
fish — what  more  do  you  want?  'Portrait  of  a  Father,  by 
his  Son:  guaranteed  genuine — a  labor  of  love.'  " 

"Did  you  ever  hear  anything  about  your  mother, 
Charles?" 

"My  mother?  Little  enough:  she  died  soon  after  I  was 
born,  didn't  she?" 

"Aye:  she  never  rose  from  her  bed." 

"But  why?  you're  not  going  to  tell  me  she  shared  any  of 
his  little  weaknesses?" 

"Your  mother  was  a  sweet  lady:  good  and  kind,  gentle 
and  true.  She  was  nineteen  when  they  married  her  up  to 
Sir  Charles:  I  was  her  maid,  and  my  man  Alexander,  he 
got  the  post  of  valet  to  Sir  Charles.  You  and  my  boy  were 
born  the  same  day,  and  when  my  boy  died  I  took  you  from 
her  breast,  and  you  were  to  me  as  my  own  son.  SfaeM  only 


76  AN    ORDEAL    OF   HONOR 

been  married  a  year :  such  a  year !  Many 's  the  time  when 
he  was  drunk,  yes  and  sober  too,  I've  seen  him  strike  her, 
and  that  before  the  servants.  And  he  'd  bring  women  to  the 
house,  and  make  her  sit  down  to  dinner  with  them. ' ' 

"Lesbia,  why  are  you  telling  me  this?  I'm  not  so  fond 
of  him  already." 

"I  tell  you  you  don't  know  a  thing  about  it,"  said  Lesbia 
slowly.  "What  I've  got  to  tell  you  is  something  quite  dif 
ferent.  .  .  .  He  killed  her." 

"Good  God!"  said  Auburn. 

He  rose  and  went  to  the  window.  The  room,  Lesbia 's 
voice,  his  own  body,  all  seemed  to  have  grown  unreal.  He 
felt  the  cool  air  breathing  on  his  forehead,  which  was 
covered  with  perspiration.  He  thought  he  was  going  to 
faint,  and  taking  up  the  vase  of  honeysuckle  he  wetted  his 
handkerchief  and  put  it  to  his  face.  In  a  minute  or  so 
the  horrible  feeling  passed  off,  and  he  was  able  to  face 
Lesbia  with  some  degree  of  composure. 

"What  do  you  mean?    Explain,  please." 

"It  was  like  this,"  said  Lesbia.  "You  were  seven  weeks 
old.  My  lady  had  been  very  ill,  but  she  was  better,  and  the 
doctor  said  she'd  pull  round  if  we  could  only  keep  her 
quiet.  He  forbade  Sir  Charles  to  see  her.  '  On  guard, '  he 
said  to  me.  'Let  nobody  pass.  I've  told  Sir  Charles  to 
keep  away,'  he  said,  'unless  he  wants  to  be  the  death  of  her. 
Agitation  would  be  fatal.'  That  was  all  he  said,  but  we 
understood  each  other.  He  had  wonderful  sense  for  a 
man,  that  doctor. 

"It  was  the  night  of  the  tenth  of  September,  and  very 
warm  for  the  time  of  year.  My  lady  lay  in  bed,  dozing, 
and  I  sat  by  with  you  in  my  arms.  My  man  was  sleeping 
near  at  hand,  and  I'd  had  him  put  up  a  bell  that  rang  in 
his  room.  He  hadn  't  much  of  a  head,  but  he  'd  been  in  the 
Grenadier  Guards. 

"By  and  by  up  comes  Eliza  to  say  Sir  Charles  wanted 
me  in  the  library.  My  lady  was  frightened  he'd  come  up 


ORDEAi   OF   HONOR  77 

and  make  a  row,  so  to  pacify  her  I  said  I'd  go.  I  put  you 
down  in  your  cot  and  locked  the  door  behind  me.  I  went 
to  the  library:  it  was  empty.  'He's  in  the  garden,'  says 
Eliza.  'I'll  fetch  him.'  So  I  waited,  thinking  no  harm — 
why  should  I!  But  when  the  time  went  by,  and  she  didn't 
come  back,  I  began  to  be  uneasy,  and  at  last  I  gave  him  up 
and  went  up  the  stairs  again.  Half-way  up  I  heard  a  babe 
crying.  Then  I  began  to  run.  As  I  came  to  the  door  I 
heard  a  loud,  heavy  noise  like  something  falling  over  in  the 
room,  and  then  my  lady's  voice  crying  out  'Oh  dear!'  and 
then,  '  Oh,  Lesbia,  do  come ! '  ' 

She  stopped  short,  clenching  her  hands  together.  "Go 
on,"  said  Auburn. 

"The  lock  stuck,  and  I  couldn't  turn  the  key.  I  cried 
out,  'I'm  here,  I'm  coming,'  but  there  was  no  answer,  only 
gome  more  noises.  Before  I  got  the  door  open  it  was  all 
silent;  only  you  were  crying  in  your  cot.  My  lady  was 
lying  on  the  floor  in  her  nightgown.  There  was  an  inkpot 
on  the  table  with  a  pen  sticking  in  it,  and  the  window  was 
wide  open.  Then  I  remembered  we'd  had  it  open  a  crack 
at  the  top  all  the  evening,  because  of  the  heat;  and  there 
was  a  balcony  outside." 

"And ?" 

"Alexander  came  in,  and  I  sent  him  riding  for  the 
doctor.  But  she  went  off  delirious  and  died  that  night." 

Lesbia  rubber  her  handkerchief  over  her  eyes.  The  re 
cital  had  wrung  a  kind  of  tears  from  her;  few  they  were, 
and  bitter. 

"My  lady  was  very  rich,  and  a  good  bit  of  her  money  was 
in  her  own  hands.  When  her  affairs  were  gone  into,  Sir 
Charles  produced  a  will  leaving  every  penny  of  it  to  him 
self  without  conditions.  The  name  was  written  very  irregu 
lar  and  feeble,  but  it  was  her  own  hand.  Eliza  and  one  of 
the  footmen  witnessed  it;  and  they  swore  they'd  seen  her 
sign  it.  A  worthless  lot  the  servants  were,  never  the  same 
two  months  running.  Sir  Charles  was  a  young  man  then, 


78  AN    ORDEAL    OF   HONOR 

and  his  hand  didn't  shake,  and  his  eye  was  true ;  he'd  think 
nothing  of  pelting  the  decanter  at  a  footman's  head:  and 
as  for  the  maids,  no  girl  that  valued  her  character  would 
stay  in  that  house.  Eliza  and  Tom  got  married  soon  after — 
none  too  soon  for  her — and  went  off  to  Canada,  I  suppose 
it  was  out  of  their  savings. 

"What  I've  told  you  to-day,  I've  never  told  before  but 
once,  and  that  was  to  the  lawyer,  Mr.  Maine.  He  told  me 
to  hold  my  tongue,  for  he  said  you  couldn't  hang  a  fly  on 
such  evidence,  and  I  might  get  myself  into  trouble. 

"I've  held  my  tongue  for  five-and-thirty  years,  and  I 
hoped  I  might  hold  it  for  ever.  But  when  I  heard  you 
were  for  marrying,  I  knew  I'd  got  to  speak.  I'm  sorry, 
dear." 

The  rain  was  still  falling,  but  more  softly:  showering 
down  over  the  parched  ground,  the  brown  turf,  the  tanned 
haycock  in  the  mead. 

"Don't  mind  for  me,  Lesbia." 

"Not  mind  for  you,  my  dear  one?  Ill  be  in  my  coffin 
when  that  day  comes. ' ' 

"You're  my  real  mother.  I'm  grateful  to  you  for  tell 
ing  me  this  story,  although  it's  rather  a  blow."  He  could 
not  go  on  for  a  moment.  "I'm  glad  you  told  me,  all  the 
same.  You're  pretty  brave,  old  Lesbia;  you  know  how  to 
face  the  music.  .  .  .  Look  here,  I  can't  stay  indoors;  I 
must  get  out  into  the  open." 

Lesbia  made  no  demur,  although  it  was  still  pouring  with 
rain.  "Don't  get  through  the  window,"  she  said,  "you  11 
break  the  geraniums.  I'll  let  you  out  at  the  door."  She 
took  him  into  the  passage,  turned  the  key,  shot  bolts,  and 
lowered  bars.  "One  would  think  you  were  afraid  of 
thieves!"  said  Auburn. 

"There's  precious  little  in  this  house  for  any  man  to 
steal  now,"  Lesbia  answered.  "Aren't  you  going  to  take 
your  hat?  I'd  lend  you  an  umbrella  if  I  thought  you'd 
put  it  up." 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  79 

"I  shouldn't — thanks  all  the  same.     Good-night,  dear." 

*  *  Good-night,  and  God  bless  you,  my  darling. ' ' 

She  shut  the  door  on  him  and  locked  and  bolted  it  again. 


IX. 


BABE-HEADED  and  without  an  overcoat,  Auburn 
swung  off  down  the  road,  while  the  rain  continued  to 
fall  thickly  and  softly  over  the  leafy  woods.  It  was  dark 
under  their  branches,  but  he  knew  every  step  of  the  way: 
he  had  roamed  it  many  a  time  in  his  boyhood  on  wilder, 
gloomier  nights  than  this,  preferring  the  scourge  of  the  hail 
or  the  deep  drifted  snow  to  the  inhospitable  luxury  of 
Auburn.  He  might  have  slept  in  the  heather,  for  all  Sir 
Charles  would  have  cared. 

In  the  great  grey  Georgian  house  there  had  always  been 
fires  on  the  hearth,  wines  in  the  cellar,  and  horses  in  the 
stall,  while  bills  were  paid  without  demur,  and  pocket- 
money  was  to  be  had  for  the  asking ;  but  that  was  all.  Per 
haps  Sir  Charles  did  not  dislike  his  son ;  perhaps  there  were 
times  when  he  was  inclined  to  be  proud  of  the  boy's 
physique  and  looks.  If  it  was  so,  Auburn  did  not  know  it. 
Like  the  rest  of  the  world,  he  found  in  Sir  Charles  only  a 
man  of  violent  temper  and  of  coarse  and  cruel  disposition. 

Fortunately  for  himself,  Auburn  in  his  fourteenth  year 
took  to  his  bosom  a  friend  in  the  person  of  Roland  Carew, 
aged  fifteen,  only  son  of  Mr.  Peter  Carew,  of  Ferndean, 
whose  lands  marched  with  the  Auburn  property.  In  com 
mon  with  the  rest  of  the  county,  Mr.  Carew  held  that  the 
life  at  Auburn  was  a  scandal;  and,  finding  that  an  inti 
macy  had  sprung  up  between  his  son  and  young  Auburn, 
he  encouraged  it,  and  gave  the  handsome  wild  boy  the  run 
of  the  house.  His  neighbors  shook  their  heads,  prophesying 
that  he  would  regret  it,  but  Mr.  Carew  placed  considerable 
faith  in  Roland,  and  was  also  rather  taken  with  the  manners 

80 


AN   ORDEAL   OF   HONOR  81 

and  looks  of  R-olands  new  ally.  "Roland  is  fourteen,"  he 
said,  "old  enough  to  take  his  own  part.  He'll  go  to  Eton 
in  the  summer,  and  there  he'll  have  to  choose  his  friends. 
The  lad  is  a  plucky  lad,  and  a  gentleman  at  all  events.  I 
don't  thing  he'll  teach  Roland  to  drink  or  to  swear,  but  if 
he  tries  it  on  I  can  trust  my  boy  to  settle  with  him.  Any 
how  I  '11  take  no  step  to  come  between  them  till  I  see  signs 
of  mischief  going  on." 

At  this  time  Roland  had  a  private  tutor,  and  when  Mr. 
Carew  had  satisfied  himself  that  his  confidence  would  not 
be  abused  he  told  Auburn  that  he  might,  if  he  liked,  share 
Roland's  lessons.  Sir  Charles  was  not  consulted  on  the 
point,  which  Mr.  Carew  felt  to  be  sailing  rather  near  the 
wind:  but  then  the  circumstances  were  exceptional!  Au 
burn  at  thirteen  scarcely  knew  his  ABC.  He  jumped 
at  the  opportunity,  and  worked  double  tides,  till  he 
was  nearly  on  a  level  with  his  companion.  Then  came  Eton 
for  Roland,  and  a  relapse  into  his  former  wild  and  solitary 
life  for  young  Auburn :  and  Mr.  Carew  expected  them  to 
drift  apart.  They  did  not.  During  the  next  vacation  they 
were  inseparable,  and  before  Roland  returned  to  school 
matters  came  to  a  crisis. 

Sir  Charles  came  on  the  boys  together  in  Auburn's  room 
one  evening.  He  had  been  drinking,  and  was  full  of  an 
imaginary  grievance  against  Auburn,  who  had  been  riding 
one  of  his  father's  horses — an  act  in  itself  no  crime,  but  Sir 
Charles  was  in  one  of  his  brutal  tempers,  and  merely  re 
quired  a  pretext.  Roland  was  witness  of  a  scene  such  as 
had  many  times  before  been  enacted  at  Auburn,  but  never 
in  his  presence.  Disgusted,  he  listened  to  the  copious  tor 
rent  of  profane  eloquence  that  flowed  from  Sir  Charles' 
lips :  but  disgust  passed  into  wrath,  and  wrath  into  dismay, 
and  dismay  into  a  burning  passion  of  pity  and  indignation, 
when  Sir  Charles  went  from  words  to  action.  At  length 
Roland  could  bear  it  no  longer  and  ran  in  between  them, 
telling  Sir  Charles  he  was  an  old  brute,  and  vaguely  threat- 


83  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

ening  to  send  for  the  police.  Possibly  Sir  Charles  did  not 
know  the  lads  apart;  at  all  events  he  made  no  attempt  to 
discriminate  between  them,  but  with  complete  impartiality 
knocked  Eoland  down  and  walked  out.  Roland  jumped  up, 
ran  to  Auburn,  and  hugged  him.  But  Auburn  turned  away, 
leaned  his  arm  along  the  mantelpiece,  and  laid  his  head 
down  on  it  for  a  minute  or  two,  sobbing.  "Oh  don't,  old 
man ! ' '  said  Roland,  greatly  distressed.  "Did  he  hurt  you  t 
Don't,  I  can't  stand  you  crying!" 

Auburn  lifted  his  head,  and  Roland  saw  that  he  had  not 
been  crying,  and  saw  also  that  no  bodily  pain  could  have 
called  that  tragic,  unboyish  misery  into  Auburn 'a  eyes. 
"You  cut  it,  Roland,"  he  said  gently,  "and  you  shan't 
come  up  here  again.  This  place  isn't  fit  for  nice  boys  with 
people  like  yours." 

Roland  went  home  obediently,  sought  his  father,  and 
related  the  affair  without  exaggeration.  Next  day  Mr. 
Carew  had  an  interview  with  Sir  Charles,  and  placed  before 
him  certain  strong  representations.  Sir  Charles  was  in  a 
softened  mood,  and  in  some  dim  way  ashamed  of  himself: 
the  upshot  of  it  all  was  that  Auburn  returned  with  Roland 
to  Eton,  and  thenceforward  spent  most  of  his  holidays  at 
Ferndean. 

Of  all  these  things,  and  many  others,  Auburn  was  think' 
ing,  as  he  went  on  under  the  trees  dripping  with  rain,  over- 
spanned  by  a  heaven  of  soft  glooms  and  vague  cloudy 
masses  with  a  bloom  of  moonlight  on  them.  Early  suffer 
ings  print  an  imperishable  mark  upon  a  man's  character. 
He  could  speak  of  Sir  Charles  lightly,  but  he  could  not 
think  of  him  in  that  way,  and  for  this  reason  1  j  rarely 
allowed  himself  to  think  of  him.  A  deep,  settled,  vindic 
tive,  sickening  anger  lay  embedded  in  the  very  depths  of 
his  nature.  Lesbia's  story  had  quickened  that  anger,  and, 
till  it  was  mastered,  he  was  not  master  of  his  own  thoughts : 
they  spun  through  his  head  like  a  drift  of  dead  leaves. 

He  turned  the  bend  of  the  road,  where  the  woods  on  the 


AN    ORDEAL   OF   HONOR  83 

right  fell  back,  and  the  tall  deer-fence  gave  place  to  a  low 
railing,  beyond  which  fields  dotted  with  clumps  of  trees 
went  rolling  away,  far  as  the  eye  could  see  in  that  dim  light, 
in  broad  and  colorless  undulations  to  the  woody  bound  of 
the  hills.  The  rain  had  ceased  falling,  but  the  air  was 
blurred  with  mist :  through  the  thinning  clouds  a  faint  glow 
revealed  the  situation  of  the  moon,  leaning  down  over  the 
hills.  There  was  neither  light  nor  color  anywhere,  but  only 
variations  of  the  universal  neutral  tint  of  green  things 
growing  in  the  dark.  He  passed  through  an  outlying 
hamlet;  lamps  gleamed  here  and  there  in  the  upper  win 
dows,  and  a  dog  barked  angrily  at  the  sound  of  steps  along 
that  lonely  road.  After  that  he  came  to  a  cross-roads,  where 
a  white  lane  wound  away  towards  the  river  and  the  old 
mill.  The  night,  the  cloudy  sky,  the  homely  English  land 
scape  spoke  to  him  with  a  thousand  voices.  The  sleepers 
in  those  cottages  were  his  father 's  laborers :  he  knew  them 
all,  and  they  knew  him — he  could  tell  the  names  of  the  chil 
dren  by  their  likeness  to  their  parents.  There  was  little 
change  in  the  Vale.  The  same  families  lived  in  the  same 
cottages  year  in  year  out,  intermarrying  and  reproducing 
the  same  tow-headed,  blue-eyed  Saxon  type.  Sir  Charles 
Auburn  of  Auburn  was  a  great  man  to  them,  and  "young 
Charl'  "  a  person  worth  staring  after.  Yes,  this  was  home ! 
Then  he  began  to  think  of  Dodo,  and  to  try  to  imagine  him 
self  married  to  her,  and  living  with  her  in  the  great  grey 
Georgian  house.  Passion  was  dead  in  that  hour,  but  in  its 
place  came  a  strange  warmth  of  friendship.  "I  should  like 
to  tell  her  all  about  it,"  he  thought.  He  found  himself 
longing  for  her  presence,  for  her  eyes  and  the  touch  of  her 
hands.  "But  I  never  can  bring  her  here,"  he  thought,  "to 
that  house  where.  ..."  Hatred  began  to  stir  in  him  again, 
like  some  old  pain  that  has  been  drugged  for  a  time.  "I 
can't  bring  her  anywhere.  I  can't  marry  her.  I  am  his 
son.  My  physical  self  is  made  out  of  his  body.  Oh,  brute 
and  devil!  am  I  bound  to  you  for  ever?  If  I  knew  what 


84 

part  of  me  came  from  you  I'd  cut  it  out  fast  enough,  right 
foot  or  right  eye!" 

Wandering  on  at  random,  it  was  with  surprise  that  he 
found  himself,  towards  midnight,  under  the  ivied  walls  of 
Ferndean  and  not  a  mile  from  Kose  Cottage.  He  had  been 
walking  in  a  circle.  Presently  he  came  to  the  lodge  gates, 
and  turned  in:  a  long  avenue  wound  away  through  the 
park,  but  he  took  a  familiar  short  cut,  vaulted  a  fence,  and 
crossed  the  lawn.  Apparently  the  Carews  had  been  giving 
a  dinner-party,  for  lights  were  still  burning  in  the  drawing- 
room,  and  the  windows  were  open.  Auburn  stood  on  the 
gravel,  looking  in.  It  was  a  pleasant  room,  spacious  and 
grave :  one  wall  was  lined  with  books,  another  with  tall  cab 
inets  full  of  Sevres  china  and  such-like  precious  trifles.  The 
skin  of  a  black  panther  sprawled  along  the  polished  floor. 
Near  the  windows,  on  an  inlaid  table,  stood  a  huge  Chinese 
bowl  full  of  all  colors  of  roses.  The  master  of  the  house  was 
standing  in  front  of  the  hearth  with  his  hands  in  his  pock 
ets:  a  tall,  well-built  man,  with  dark  hair,  dark  eyes,  and 
dark  regular  features.  The  trim  severity  of  black  and  white 
became  him  very  well :  he  looked  handsome — perhaps  rather 
handsome  than  interesting,  rather  well-bred  than  warm 
hearted.  Violet  Carew,  clad  in  a  French-looking  gown  of 
black  chiffon,  stood  under  the  chandelier  absorbed  in  a 
newspaper,  which  she  held  up  before  her  in  both  hands. 
She  was  neither  pretty  nor  plain,  and  by  people  who  did 
not  know  her  well  she  was  considered  very  sweet-looking. 
Presently  she  put  down  the  newspaper,  strolled  up  to 
Eoland,  and  picked  a  white  thread  off  his  sleeve.  "Well," 
said  the  master  of  the  house,  using  the  phrase  consecrated 
from  time  immemorial  to  such  occasions,  "thank  goodness, 
that's  over!" 

"Yes,"  assented  the  hospitable  hostess,  "but  I  thought 
they  were  never  going.  I'm  so  sleepy."  She  yawned  un 
affectedly.  "I  shall  go  to  bed.  Aren't  you  coming?" 

"Directly.    I  want  half  a  pipe  first." 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  85 

"Oh.    Well,  good-night  in  case  I'm  asleep." 

' '  Good-night,  darling. ' ' 

He  kissed  her.  Five  years  of  married  life  had  not,  ap 
parently,  taken  the  savour  from  that  process.  Violet  moved 
away,  but  paused  at  the  door.  "It  went  off  all  right,  don't 
you  think?" 

"Oh,  very.    They're  all  nice  people." 

"Thomson  waits  very  well  now." 

"Eather  slow  with  the  wines." 

"H'm,"  said  Violet,  stifling  another  yawn.  "Do  you 
think  the  asparagus  was  done  enough?" 

"Didn't  have  any." 

"Rupert  Maxwell  told  me  he  met  Sir  Charles  Auburn  at 
the  station  yesterday  morning,  going  up  to  town." 

"Did  he?    I  wish  the  train  would  run  off  the  metals." 

"I  do  too,  rather.    Shall  you  be  long?" 

"No  I'm  coming  directly.  You  run  along — you're  look 
ing  fagged." 

Violet  went  out.  As  soon  as  the  door  was  closed,  Auburn 
walked  in.  Roland  was  standing  before  the  looking-glass 
inspecting  his  tie:  he  caught  sight  of  Auburn,  wheeled 
round,  and  stood  rooted  to  the  ground  in  astonishment. 

"Auburn!    Tout" 

"No,  my  ghost." 

"Where — on  earth — do  you  spring  from?" 

"  I  Ve  been  calling  on  Lesbia,  and  I  thought  I M  come  on 
here." 

"Are  you  aware  that  it's  past  midnight?" 

"Oh?    I  thought  it  was  ten  minutes  to  one." 

"But,  good  heavens!  do  you  know  that  you're  dripping 
wet?" 

Auburn  made  a  slight  grimace.  "The  dickens  I  am!  I 
forgot  that.  I  think  I'd  better  not  come  in." 

"Come  and  sit  down.    Have  you  had  anything  to  eat?" 

' '  Take  your  hand  off  that  bell-rope,  unless  you  want  me  to 
depart  incontinent.  I  don't  desire  a  fuss,  Roland." 


86  AN    ORDEAL    OF   HONOR 

Roland  took  him  by  the  shoulders  and  pushed  him  down 
on  a  sofa,  himself  sitting  on  the  arm  of  it.  The  tie  between 
the  two  men  was  so  old  and  deep  and  strong  that  sympathy 
took  the  place  of  penetration,  with  which  Mr.  Carew  was 
poorly  endowed.  "All  right,  I  won't  make  any  fuss,  old 
boy,"  he  said.  "Only  I  think  you  might  tell  me  what's 

wrong.  Have  you  had  a  row  with  Sir  Ch Auburn! 

Look  here,  you  shut  up :  that  sort  of  thing's  not  good  taste. 
After  all  he's  your  father." 

1 '  That  is  what  is  wrong, ' '  said  Auburn.  ' '  I  'm  sorry,  but 
I  shall  infallibly  swear  if  I  talk  about  him.  Very  wet  to 
night,  isn't  it?" 

"Has  anything  happened?" 

"I  haven't  murdered  him,  if  that's  what  you  mean.  I'm 
not  sure  that  I  shan't,  though.  Why  do  you  harp  on  that 
subject?  I  said  it  was  a  wet  evening." 

"Is  it  anything  fresh?" 

"Oh,  let  me  alone,  do,  for  heaven's  sake!  What  an  old 
woman  you  are  to  be  so  inquisitive!" 

"Auburn,  if  you  could  see  your  own  face  you  would  be 
inquisitive." 

"Should  I?  ...  Well,  1 11  tell  you,  then.  Lesbia  says 
he  killed  my  mother. ' '  Roland  said  nothing.  ' '  I  don 't  say 
he  actually  went  for  her  with  a  bludgeon,  but  he  was  di 
rectly  responsible  for  her  death." 

Half  a  dozen  questions  put  Roland  in  possession  of  the 
facts.  Auburn  gave  them  languidly,  looking  white  and 
tired :  apparently  he  had  exhausted  himself  in  that  one  short 
and  sharp  outbreak  which  had  called  down  on  him  Roland's 
rebuke.  "A  very  indecent  affair,  isn't  it?"  finished 
Auburn. 

"How  utterly  awful!"  said  Roland  Carew  slowly. 

"You  always  put  things  so  nicely,"  said  Auburn,  yawn 
ing.  "Yes,  I  suppose  it  is  utterly  awful.  It's  not  a  hang 
ing  matter.  To  go  to  your  wife's  room  and  drag  her  out 
of  bed  is  not  murder.  No  one  can  touch  Sir  Charles." 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  87 

' '  My  dear  fellow,  you  surely  are  not  regretting  it  ?  You 
don't  want  a  scandal." 

"No,  I'm  his  son,  ain't  I?" 

Roland  abandoned  that  side  of  the  question;  it  did  not 
bear  looking  at.  "Lesbia  ought  never  to  have  told  you," 
he  said.  ''She  ought  to  have  had  the  strength  of  mind  to 
keep  it  to  herself.  Just  like  a  woman — they're  so  fond  of 
doing  things  by  halves." 

''She  thought  I  ought  to  know." 

"I  don't  see  why  now  more  than  at  any  other  time." 

"No,  possibly  you  don't,"  said  Auburn,  with  a  gleam  of 
genuine  merriment  lighting  up  his  eyes.  "Let's  see,  when 
did  I  write  to  you  last — from  Salonica,  wasn't  it?  Ah, 
that 's  ages  ago.  Have  patience  with  me,  and  I  will  tell  thee 
all."  He  got  up  and  strolled  over  to  smell  the  roses.  "I'd 
have  sent  you  a  card  for  the  ceremony,  old  man,  on  my 
honor  I  would!" 

"What  ceremony?" 

"You  wouldn't  have  been  any  good,  you  know,  having 
already  preceded  me  into  the  fatal  noose.  Still  I  should 
have  been  glad  of  your  moral  support " 

"Auburn,  I  do  beg  of  you  to  be  sensible!  This  is  not  a 
laughing  matter. ' ' 

"The  fact  that  my  father  murdered  my  mother  is  cer 
tainly  not  a  fit  subject  for  mirth.  The  fact  that  I  myself, 
am,  or  was,  about  to  get  married  is — not  a  fit  subject  for 
raving  up  and  down  the  room,  dear  boy!  Calm  yourself, 
do — you  see  I'm  quite  calm!" 

Roland  was  not  raving  up  and  down  the  room,  but  neither 
was  he  calm.  He  came  and  put  his  hands  on  Auburn's 
shoulders :  he  went  so  far  as  to  shake  him  slightly,  half  in 
exasperation,  half  as  if  he  really  hoped  to  shake  the  truth 
out  of  him.  Auburn  stood  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets 
and  allowed  himself  to  be  shaken:  passive,  merry,  invin 
cibly  stoical,  he  continued  to  laugh  at  Roland  till  his  own 
whimsical  fancy  veered  towards  confidence. 


88  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

"Look  here,"  lie  said  suddenly,  "I'll  tell  you  all  about  it. 
I  always  meant  to  tell  you  some  time,  only  the  time  didn't 
arrive.  I  've  got  engaged :  I  only  did  it  last  Tuesday !  You 
know  I  told  you  I  was  going  to  stay  with  some  people  named 
Carminow?  It's  Dodo  Carminow.  Her  father's  vicar  of 
Stanton  Mere,  near  Countisford.  She's  nineteen,  and  I 
don't  think  she's  ever  stayed  in  London.  She's  been  there 
for  the  day,  though,  several  times.  She  doesn't  really  like 
me  much,  but  she  likes  the  prospect  of  being  Lady  Auburn 
and  having  plenty  of  money  to  spend — Not  serious  ?  I  am, 
though — rather !  She  trots  round  the  parish  with  port  wine 
and  blankets,  and  she  teaches  a  boys'  Bible  class.  "We're 
going  to  Paris  for  our  honeymoon,  and  I  'm  pledged  to  buy 
her  some  clothes  at  Pasquin  's.  She 's  rather  pretty,  Roland. 
The  odd  part  of  it  is  that  I  shouldn't  care  a  hang  if  she 
heard  every  word  I've  been  saying,  and  she  wouldn't  either. 
Oh,  I  forgot  to  add  that  she's  a  religious-minded  Dodo: 
good  to  the  nth,  in  fact — you  may  fill  up  the  blanks  with  all 
the  Christian  virtues." 

"Are  you  in  love  with  her?"  asked  Roland,  as  bluntly  as 
Grace  had  asked  the  same  thing  of  Dodo. 

Auburn  looked  puzzled.  "Bet  you  sixpence  I  am?"  he 
said  in  an  inquiring  tone. 

"Are  you  modi"  said  Roland.  It  was  purely  a  rhetori 
cal  question. 

"Yes,  I  think  so,"  said  Auburn  happily.  "Yes,  let's 
settle  that  I  am,  it'll  save  a  jolly  lot  of  trouble.  Oh,  Roland, 
you  are  a  blessed  old  ass!  Can't  you  understand  all  the 
things  I  haven't  said?  Can't  you  see  I'm — I'm " 

"Roland,  did  you " 

Both  men  started,  and  turned  round:  but  their  surprise 
was  considerably  less  than  Mrs.  Carew's.  She  was  in  her 
dressing-gown,  and  her  pretty  brown  hair  was  disposed  for 
the  night  in  pigtails  and  curling-pins,  and  probably  nothing 
would  have  been  further  from  her  thoughts  than  to  find  a 
very  wet,  very  muddy  Charles  Auburn  standing  in  her 


AN    ORDEAL    OF   HONOR  89 

drawing-room.  Her  looks  expressed  a  lively  mingling  of 
horror  and  surprise.  Auburn  shook  off  the  hand  that 
Roland  instinctively  laid  on  his  arm,  and  made  two  strides 
of  it  to  the  window. 

"You're  not  to  go,  Auburn!  It's  pelting  with  rain — 
don't  be  an  ass!" 

"Mr.  Auburn,  don't  go!"  said  Violet  quickly.  "You're 
going  because  I'm  here,  and  I  don't  want  you  to,  honestly. 
We  can  easily  put  you  up!" 

Auburn  paused  a  moment  on  the  gravel  to  turn  up  his 
coat-collar,  making  a  slight  grimace  over  the  cold  wetness 
of  it  against  his  cheek :  his  face  illumined  by  the  light  from 
within,  he  smiled  back  at  Violet,  bending  his  head.  Know 
ing  little  of  women,  and  having  gathered  from  books  a 
general  impression  that  masculine  friendships  were  at  a 
discount  in  their  eyes  he  had  expected,  when  Roland  mar 
ried,  to  be  civilly  bowed  out  of  intimacy :  it  had  not  been 
so,  yet  Violet's  frank  kindness  still  came  to  him  always  as 
a  surprise.  "Dear  souls,"  he  said,  "how  very  good  you 
are  to  me !  Add  one  more  to  the  list  of  your  many  charities, 
and  let  me  depart  in  peace." 

* '  Why  not  stay  in  peace  ? ' '  Violet  suggested.  ' '  Nobody  11 
ask  any  questions." 

"What  on  earth  do  you  mean  by  that?"  asked  Auburn, 
perturbed.  "Go  away,  I  don't  like  you.  Roland,  you'd 
better  lock  up  the  broomsticks.  Good-night,  the  pair  of 
you:  I  hope  you'll  always  be  as  good  as  you  are  happy." 

"Auburn " 

Roland  grasped  his  arm.  Auburn  wrenched  himself  free 
with  a  violence  that  sent  Roland  staggering  back  into  the 
room,  and  vanished.  They  heard  him  cross  the  gravel  and 
swing  off  across  the  lawn:  the  night  had  grown  dark,  and 
it  was  beginning  to  rain  again.  A  gust  of  wind  set  the 
lights  flaring,  and  Violet  slowly  closed  the  window. 


IT  was  evening  again ;  one  of  those  lovely  summer  nights 
when  July  clothes  the  earth  with  the  beauty  of  moon 
light.  The  Carminows  had  finished  supper,  and  were  pur 
suing  their  wonted  avocations  in  the  schoolroom,  whose 
windows  were  all  open  down  to  the  ground.  Caron  sat 
cross-legged  on  the  middle  threshold,  smoking,  and  gazing 
out  into  the  greyish-azure  of  the  deep,  unclouded  sky. 
Boden  was  lying  on  the  sofa,  ostensibly  reading ;  but  it  was 
only  at  rare  intervals  that  he  turned  a  leaf.  These  were 
the  contemplative  members  of  the  family.  Mr.  Carminow 
had  been  called  out  to  baptize  a  sick  child,  and  Dickie  had 
volunteered  to  escort  him  for  the  sake  of  the  walk.  Bernard 
had  taken  to  himself  one  end  of  the  big  table  and  sat  there 
immersed,  surrounded  by  books  and  papers,  his  own  pri 
vate  reading-lamp  casting  a  private  circle  of  light  over  his 
desk.  Dodo  at  the  other  end  was  plying  her  sewing- 
machine,  which  made  a  subdued  whirring  noise  in  the  quiet 
of  the  room.  The  wheel  spun,  the  needle  clicked ;  there  was 
no  other  sound  to  be  heard  except  an  occasional  rustling  of 
Bernard's  papers.  Dodo  resented  the  hush  of  quiet,  so 
rare  in  that  lively  household. 

"The  lamp  is  smoking,  Bernard,"  said  she. 

"Because  it's  badly  cut,"  said  Bernard,  turning  it  down. 
'Curious  that  one  can't  trust  a  woman  to  do  the  most 
trifling  things  properly !  One  would  not  think  it  required 
much  brain  to  trim  a  lamp." 

"What  an  extraordinarily  evil  manner  you  have,  Bern 
ard!"  said  Caron.  "I  wish  you'd  give  me  a  lesson  in  the 
art — I  know  how  to  be  rude,  but  I  don't  know  how  to  be 

90 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  91 

offensively  rude."  His  tone  rather  belied  his  words,  but 
Bernard  only  lifted  his  head  to  stare  at  him  for  a  moment, 
then  returned  to  his  calculations. 

"Did  you  get  any  tennis  up  at  the  Trevors',  Roddy?" 

"Couple  o'  sets." 

"Who  was  there?" 

"Oh,  the  usual  team;  Grace  and  Mabel  Blandford  and 
Val  Attwood." 

"Who  won?" 

' '  Grace  and  I.  Attwood  couldn  't  make  much  of  the  great 
Mabel.  She  was  weirder  than  ever,  in  a  pink  costume,  with 
a  pink  sash  and  a  red  straw  hat  with  poppies  in  it.  Att 
wood  was  awfully  sick,  he  had  her  on  his  hands  the  whole 
afternoon;  he  went  directly  after  tea.  She's  a  persistent 
angler,  is  that  young  woman,  and  she 's  got  her  eye  on  Val. ' ' 

"With  a  cast  in  it,"  suggested  Caron.  "But  she's  not  a 
judicious  hooker.  He  has  a  fine  head,  has  Attwood.  What 
was  that  queer  story  he  was  mixed  up  in,  though?  That 
pal  of  Dickie's  that  he  brought  over  here  last  autumn  told 
us,  don't  you  remember?  He  nearly  had  to  send  in  his 
papers." 

"Dickson  never  ought  to  have  repeated  it,"  said  Dodo 
with  some  warmth,  "and  you're  not  to,  either,  Car — I  won't 
have  it.  I  hoped  you'd  forgotten  about  it.  Poor  Val  was 
only  twenty-two!" 

"Which,  taken  in  conjunction  with  fine  eyes  and  an 
attractive  manner,  is  ample  ground  for  forgiving  anybody 
or  anything,"  remarked  Bernard.  "What  did  Attwood  do 
— embezzle  the  mess  funds  or  turn  up  drunk  on  parade?" 

Dodo  turned  on  him  with  a  flash  in  her  eyes.  "Bernard, 
you  are  as  hard  as  the  nether  millstone !  If  ever  you  want 
mercy,  I  hope  you'll  not  get  it." 

"Oh,  Bernard's  the  apostle  of  pure  reason,"  said  Caron, 
laughing.  "Chivalry  has  no  place  in  his  composition — he 
thinks  it's  an  unworthy  weakness-." 

"No,  I  don't,"  said  Bernard.    "I  keep  some  for  you." 


93  AN    ORDEAL    OF   HONOR 

The  wheel  spun  and  the  needle  clicked:  Dodo  did  not 
intervene.  Caron  might  cross  swords,  if  he  liked,  with  his 
brother:  she  knew  better  than  to  engage  in  that  unequal 
strife.  She  glanced  once  or  twice  at  Roden,  but  he  was 
buried  in  his  book.  Whose  side  was  he  on?  That  re 
mained  to  be  seen.  Long  experience  had  proved  to  Dodo 
that  she  and  Roden  were  the  only  members  of  the  family 
capable  of  standing  up  to  Bernard  in  a  hand-to-hand  fight : 
Caron,  hypersensitive  and  morbidly  troubled  by  his  lame 
ness,  was  predestined  to  come  to  grief.  As  a  rule  Rodeu 
might  be  relied  on  to  cover  his  retreat;  to-night,  however, 
his  face  expressed  nothing  but  a  slight  weariness,  which 
might  or  might  not  conceal  disgust.  Caron  being  on  Dodo's 
side,  and  Roden  refusing  to  take  sides  with  Caron,  did  it 
follow  that  he  would  support  Bernard  against  Dodo  ?  She 
creased  her  work  into  a  straight  fold,  and  flattened  it  down 
methodically  on  the  tablet  under  the  needle.  Hearts  may 
break,  but  shirts  must  be  hemmed — Bernard's  shirts,  for 
example !  Such  is  the  ingratitude  of  man :  not  that  Bernard 
knew  they  were  his  shirts. 

''Was  that  the  front  gate  opening?"  Dodo  asked  sud 
denly.  "If  so  I  must  go — Aline 's  out." 

"Yes,  I  hear  some  one  coming  up  the  drive,"  said  Caron. 

Through  the  evening  quiet  they  could  all  hear  distant 
steps  on  the  gravel:  light,  firm  steps,  walking  fast.  Ab 
ruptly  they  ceased :  the  late  comer  had  turned  off  across  the 
grass.  Dodo  pushed  her  work  aside,  and  rose.  Bernard 
also  rose,  and  prevented  her. 

"Don't  trouble,"  he  said;  I'll  go." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Bernard?" 

"Simply  that  I  won't  have  that  fellow  coming  here  any 
more." 

"To  your  house!"  exclaimed  Caron. 

"I  shall  have  to  meet  him  in  the  street,  then,"  said  Dodo. 

"If  you  like  to  disgrace  yourself,  that's  your  affair. 
Don't  be  a  fool,  Caron.  Get  out  of  the  way " 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  93 

"No,  "said  Roden. 

He  dragged  himself  up  off  the  sofa,  looking  the  image  of 
exhaustion.  "Don't  you  be  a  fool,  Bernie.  Do  you  want 
to  quarrel?  I'm  on.  Call  the  police  if  you  like.  I've 
talked  it  over  with  father  and  he  thinks  it  had  better  be  I 
who  see  Auburn." 

Bernard,  who  had  not  taken  the  pains  to  assure  himself 
of  Mr.  Carminow's  support  (which  was  usually  at  his  serv 
ice,  partly  for  peace  sake,  and  partly  because  he  had  an 
irritating  knack  of  being  in  the  right),  stood  silent,  his 
brow  dark.  Roden  passed  him  as  if  he  did  not  exist,  and 
stepped  out  on  the  terrace,  Dodo  following.  The  little  scene 
had  gone  by  so  quickly  that  Auburn  was  still  only  half-way 
across  the  lawn. 

' '  Oh,  bless  you,  Roddy ! ' '  said  Dodo  in  an  ardent  whisper. 

"Yes,  I  dare  say,"  said  Roden,  "what  a  beastly  little 
nuisance  you  are  to  drag  me  into  a  row  with  Bernard! 
Life  won't  be  worth  living  for  a  fortnight.  Cut  it,  now: 
I  've  got  to  do  the  heavy  brother. ' ' 

Dodo  retired — provisionally:  and  Roden  ran  down  the 
steps  to  be  instantly  hailed  by  Auburn.  "Oh,  I  say,  I've 
had  such  a  dickens  of  a  time !  The  exhaust  pipe  broke,  and 
I  clattered  home  like  a  mad  dog  tied  to  a  tin  kettle. 
Where's  Dodo?" 

"Indoors,"  said  Roden. 

He  passed  his  arm  through  Auburn's,  turned  him  round, 
and  began  to  walk  up  and  down  the  lawn,  stealing  keen 
glances  at  his  tall  companion.  He  liked  Auburn  very  much, 
and  had  done  so  from  the  first :  had  been  attracted  by  the 
sight  of  Auburn's  overflowing  vitality  and  high-spirited 
acceptance  of  life :  but  he  did  not  trust  him — why  should 
he?  Their  acquaintance  was  in  reality  slight,  and  Roden 
was  not  impulsive,  nor  prone  to  judge  by  intuition.  This 
attitude  had  naturally  been  intensified  by  the  recent  change 
in  their  relations,  for  what  was  good  enough  in  Roden 's 
friend  was  by  no  means  good  enough  in  Dodo 's  lover.  Au- 


94-  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

burn  meanwhile  was  racking  his  brains  to  account  for  a 
reception  which  struck  him  as  peculiarly  chilly.  At  length 
he  was  driven  to  ask,  "Is  anything  wrong?" 

"There  has  been  rather  a  row  on  at  home." 

"A  row  about  me?" 

"Yes:  and  I  said  I'd  talk  to  you  because  I  knew  you 
couldn't  be  expected  to  stand  Bernard's  methods,  and  the 
Vicar  funked  it.  Father  has  had  a  letter " 

"From  Sir  Charles?" 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"I  divined  it.    Continue." 

"First  let  me  say  that  the  writer's  prejudice  was  obvi 
ous.  He  had  had  your  letter  announcing  the  engagement : 
he  disliked  the  idea  of  it — for  which  I  don't  blame  him: 
she's  no  catch — and  his  express  purpose  was  to  break  it  off. 
He  wasn't  particularly  civil  to  my  father,  or  any  of  us. 
He  refused  point-blank  to  consent;  and  he  declared  that 
in  doing  so  he  was  thinking  as  much  of  Dodo  as  he  was 
of  you." 

"Keally?    Why?" 

"He  painta  you  in  lurid  colors — don't  lose  your  temper 
if  you  can  help  it.  He  says  you've  been  pretty  wild." 

Auburn  laughed  out :  the  situation  was  not  without  irony. 
"Wild,  have  I?  that's  rather  droll.  Did  I  make  love  to 
housemaids,  or  throw  the  decanters  at  the  footmen's  heads? 
— My  good  Roden,  is  it  possible  that  you  take  him  seri 
ously?" 

"Seriously  enough  to  want  a  categorical  denial." 

"Then  I  give  you  a  categorical  denial — it's  a  damnable 
lie." 

"Can  you  prove  your  words?" 

Auburn  jerked  his  arm  away  and  swung  round  on  Roden 
with  so  angry  a  flash  that  the  latter  thought  he  was  going 
to  be  knocked  down,  but  on  the  brink  of  an  outbreak  Au 
burn  checked  himself,  and  laughed  instead.  "How  you 
must  enjoy  all  this!  So  do  I,  but  I'd  rather  be  cross- 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  95 

examined  than  cross-examiner.  You're  a  cool  hand, 
Roden." 

"You  must  let  me  remind  you  that  we  really  know  next 
to  nothing  of  you.  Your  father  gives  you  a  bad  character, 
and  you  retort  by  swearing  at  him:  he  proves  nothing — 
neither  do  you." 

"Oh,  you're  logical  enough:  I'm  not  blaming  you.  But 
the  upshot  of  it  is  that  Mr.  Carminow  withdraws  his  con 
sent,  I  suppose,  till  I  can  clear  myself?" 

' '  He  withdraws  his  consent  till  your  father  gives  his. ' ' 

"Oh?  That's  very  funny.  Won't  it  do  if  I  can  get  a 
certificate  of  character?" 

"Hardly.  You  see  he  hates  the  idea  of  Dodo  marrying 
into  a  family  that  doesn't  welcome  her.  We  have  no 
money,"  Roden 's  clear  and  concise  utterance  lent  point 
to  his  words:  "and  so  we  think  the  more  of  ourselves.  Sir 
Charles  evidently  believes  we've  conspired  to  catch  you. 
You  can't  expect  my  father  to  like  that." 

"No." 

' '  Besides,  he  hates  the  idea  of  you  and  Sir  Charles  being 
on  bad  terms  over  it.  He's  a  firm  believer  in  the  family 
tie,  you  know,  and  he  thinks — I'm  not  sure  I  don't  agree 
with  him — it  must  be  partly  your  own  fault  if  you  don't 
get  on.  Sir  Charles  writes  pretty  decently  about  you — his 
only  son,  and  all  that:  he  certainly  is  more  civil  to  you 
than " 

"Than  I  was  to  him?" 

' '  I  dare  say  you  think  I  have  no  right  to  say  this. ' ' 

"Not  at  all :  as  Dodo's  brother  I  have  given  you  the  right 
to  examine  into  my  private  affairs." 

"Well,  yes:  I  think  you  have,"  said  Roden  roundly. 
Auburn  laughed  again.  His  face  was  as  expressionless  as 
a  mask,  and  he  would  not  meet  Roden 's  eyes. 

1 '  Quite  so.    Am  I  to  see  Dodo  ? ' ' 

"Father  won't  say  no,  but  would  rather  not  say  yes." 

"And  Dodo  acquiesces,  of  course?    What  it  is  to  belong 


96  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

to  a  virtuous  family!  Thank  heaven,  there's  no  risk  of 
that  for  me.  Never  mind:  I'll  go  down  to-morrow  and 
make  it  up  with  Sir  Charles,  and  all  shall  go  merry  as  a 
marriage  bell.  "Will  that  satisfy  Mr.  Carminow?" 

"You  will  go  down  to  Auburn?" 

"Certainly:  what  else  should  I  do?  I  haven't  seen  Sir 
Charles  for  ten  years,  so  it  will  be  a  touching  reunion." 

Roden  was  vaguely  dissatisfied,  though  he  could  not  have 
said  why.  "Are  you  in  a  rage?"  he  asked,  trying  to  read 
Auburn's  face.  "You've  got  a  temper,  I  should  fancy. 
Are  you  annoyed  with  me  or  with  him?" 

"You  don't  know  what  you're  talking  about,  Roddy: 
you  don't  in  the  least  understand  the  situation,  or  him,  or 
me.  I  shall  get  back  to  town  to-night  and  go  down  by  the 
one  o'clock  train  from  Waterloo:  that  gets  to  Auburn 
towards  evening.  I  shall  catch  Sir  Charles  after  dinner 
when  he's  in  his  mellowest  mood.  I'll  bring  over  the  olive- 
branch  next  day.  Well,  now  I  think  I'll  say  good-night: 
I'm  dead  sleepy."  He  made  as  if  to  hold  out  his  hand,  but 
checked  himself.  Simultaneously  Roden  seized  it  and 
wrung  it. 

"You've  been  awfully  decent  over  this." 

"Yes,  I've  borne  with  your  impertinence." 

"You  see,"  Roden  paused,  visibly  screwing  himself  to 
the  sticking  point,  "we're  very  fond  of  Dodo." 

"Very  proper  sentiments,  my  son,"  was  all  the  answer 
Auburn  vouchsafed :  nevertheless  his  eyes  softened. 

Man  proposes.  As  Auburn  walked  down  the  avenue  after 
parting  with  Roden,  a  small  lithe  figure  slid  down  from  its 
seat  on  the  arm  of  a  fir  and  came  towards  him. 

"Dodo!"  said  Auburn,  recoiling,  "go  away — I'm  not 
allowed  to  play  with  you." 

"You  can't  cut  a  lady,  it's  not  polite,"  said  Dodo,  ad 
vancing  and  holding  out  her  hands.  Auburn  took  them: 
she  put  up  her  face.  Auburn  shook  his  head. 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  97 

"No:  I'm  on  my  honor." 

"Oh!"  said  Dodo:  "—or  you  don't  want  to?" 

"I  desire  it  of  all  things." 

"What's  the  matter  with  your  eyes,  Charles?  they  look 
very  queer." 

"The  matter  with  my  eyes?  Nothing!  What's  wrong 
with  them?" 

"Altogether  you're  not  like  yourself.  Where  are  you 
going?" 

He  parried  with  another  question.  "Aren't  you  afraid 
to  talk  to  a  dangerous,  dissipated  scamp  like  me?" 

"That  is  utter  nonsense,"  said  Dodo  slowly.  "I  don't 
believe  a  word  of  it." 

"Not  when  you  have  it  on  such  good  authority?  I'm 
his  only  son,  and  he 's  devotedly  attached  to  me.  Think  how 
painful  it  must  have  been  for  him  to  have  to  give  me 
away!" 

"What's  the  matter,  Charles?" 

"Nothing.  I'm  tired:  I've  had  a  long  day,  and  the  car 
wasn  't  running  well.  Let  me  go,  Dodo. ' ' 

"Go  where?" 

"To  London.  I'm  not  fit  to  sleep  at  the  Vicarage." 

' '  Oh  dear  me ! ' '  said  Dodo,  crushing  her  fingers  together. 
"I  do  so  wish  men  wouldn't  meddle  in  things  they  don't 
understand.  What  are  you  going  to  do  to-morrow  ? ' ' 

"Make  it  up  with  my  dear  father." 

"Charles,  you're  not  going  to  Auburn?" 

"Faith,  but  I  am,  though!" 

He  stood  smiling  down  at  her  with  indolent,  ironical  eyes. 
"You  may  think  of  me  as  folded  in  the  parental  embrace. 
What,  aren't  you  touched?  You  don't  appreciate  the  beau 
ties  of  the  family  tie.  When  a  father  doesn't  get  on  with 
his  only  son,  darling,  there  are  certain  to  be  faults  on  both 
sides.  I'm  going  to  ask  him  to  forgive  me,  and  take  me  to 
his  breast  again." 

"You  shan't  go,  Charles." 


98  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

She  stepped  in  front  of  the  gate.  Auburn,  however,  was 
no  less  resolute :  he  slipped  his  arm  round  her  waist,  lifted 
her  in  his  clasp  like  a  child,  and  set  her  aside.  His  strength, 
the  silent  laughter  in  his  eyes,  and  the  realization  of  her 
own  weakness  brought  the  color  to  Dodo's  cheek  and  put 
her  to  silence.  Meanwhile,  Auburn  had  passed  out  into  the 
road.  ' '  Oh,  don 't, ' '  cried  Dodo,  ' '  dear,  don 't  do  it ! "  But 
he  only  waved  his  hand  to  her  and  went  on  his  way. 


XL 


ODEN>  are 

'  '  No,  '  '  said  Koden,  retiring  an  inch,  or  so  farther 
under  the  bedclothes.  "Fast  asleep.  Go  away!" 

Dodo  perched  herself  on  the  bed,  tucking  up  her  bare 
feet  under  her,  and  folded  her  arms  as  tightly  as  the  tight 
ness  of  the  red  dressing-gown  would  permit.  "Have  you 
got  any  money?"  Koden  snored.  "It's  not  the  least  use 
your  doing  that,  said  Dodo  calmly.  "Don't  be  silly  1" 

Koden  emerged,  looking  very  cross  in  the  pale  mid 
night  moonlight,  his  fair  hair  much  ruffled,  his  grey  eyes 
blinking.  As  he  was  notoriously  a  light  sleeper,  Dodo  felt 
justified  in  ignoring  this  ostentatious  drowsiness.  "Have 
you  got  any  money  ?  '  '  she  repeated,  '  *  and  if  so,  how  much  ?  '  ' 

"There's  a  shilling  and  three  halfpennies  on  the  dressing- 
table  which  you  can  have  if  you  '11  only  go  away.  "What  do 
you  want  money  for  in  the  middle  of  the  night?" 

"I  want  you  to  go  to  Auburn  to-morrow  and  get  hold  of 
Charles." 

Roden  left  off  yawning  and  looked  mutely  at  his  sister. 

"I  want  you  to  prevent  him  from  going  to  see  his 
father." 

"My  dear  child,  what  are  you  afraid  of?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"I  don't  see  what's  going  to  happen  to  him  unless  Sir 
Charles  locks  him  up  in  the  cellar  :  and  if  I  were  Auburn  I 
wouldn't  be  green  enough  to  go  into  the  cellar." 

"Yet  you'll  go." 

"How  can  I?  He  has  twelve  hours'  start  of  me,  and  I 

99 


100  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

don't  know  where  to  find  him!  Be  rational,  dear  child — 
even  if  you  are  in  love." 

"You  can  easily  waylay  him,  for  he  doesn't  mean  to  go 
to  Sir  Charles  till  after  dinner.  Call  at  Auburn  and  leave 
a  message  for  him." 

"I  can  call  spirits  from  the  vasty  deep,"  said  Roden, 
with  more  relevance  than  appeared  at  first,  "but  will  they 
come  when  I  do  call  for  them?  Your  beloved  Charles  is 
fairly  obstinate.  I  think  he  will  tell  me  to  go  to  Jericho." 

"Possibly,  but  he  won't  tell  me  to  go  to  Jericho.  I'll 
give  you  a  note  for  him. ' ' 

"Nonsense:  I'm  not  going." 

' '  Yes,  you  are, ' '  said  Dodo,  coaxing.  ' '  You  know,  Roddy, 
I'm  not  an  idiot.  I  shouldn't  say  this  without  reason.  I 
know  a  great  deal  more  about  Charles  than  you  do,  and  I — 

I  dread "  she  broke  off.  "I  don 't  like  it :  I 'm  miserable 

about  it.  Be  sweet  to  me,  darling!" 

"What's  the  fare?" 

"Nineteen  and  a  penny." 

Roden  shook  his  head.  "Circumstances  over  which  I 
have  no  control " 

"  I  've  got  seven  and  f  ourpence. ' '  Roden  shook  his  head. 
"Well,  borrow  from  Caron." 

Roden  shook  his  head  again.    "My  child,  I  have." 

"Isn't  there  anything  we  could  sell?" 

"Not  unless  you  could  bring  yourself  to  part  with  that 
dressing-gown." 

"Don't  be  so  silly.  Of  course  father  would  give  it  us, 
but " 

"But "  Roden  nodded  assent.  "Tell  you  what— 

"borrow  from  Bernard!" 

The  proposal  was  startling.  "But  he  won't  give  it  you!" 
objected  Dodo. 

"Child,  child,  what  a  pitiful  lack  of  imagination  yon  dis 
play  !  Would  you  mind  handing  me  my  covert  coat  off  that 
chair?"  Dodo  gave  it  him,  and  he  got  up,  wrapping  it 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  101 

round  him  over  his  pyjamas — reconciled  to  the  journey  that 
lay  before  him  by  the  exhilarating  prospect  of  committing 
a  burglary.  Dodo  could  not  help  laughing  as  she  watched 
him  gravely  getting  into  his  slippers.  "It'll  serve  Bernard 
right,"  he  said  firmly;  "bleed  a  little  of  the  self -righteous 
ness  out  of  him.  Wonder  where  he  keeps  his  tin,  by  the  bye  ? 
He's  such  a  beastly  screw,  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  to  find 
he  locks  it  up."  Koden's  tone  was  injured;  he  himself  had 
never  been  known  to  lock  money  up  but  once,  when  he  hid 
away  a  £10  note  in  a  drawer,  lost  the  key,  and  forgot  what 
he  had  done  with  the  note,  which  came  to  light  some  months 
later,  when  Bernard  had  occasion  to  break  open  the  desk. 
"Never  mind,  you  wait  a  sec.,"  said  the  chronically  impe 
cunious  one,  cautiously  tip-toeing  out  of  the  room.  "Pli 
rummage  out  his  caches." 

In  point  of  fact  he  was  away  some  little  time,  and  when 
he  returned  Dodo  had  curled  herself  up  on  the  pillow  and 
was  asleep  in  good  earnest.  Roden  stood  for  a  few  moments 
silently  regarding  her.  Sleep  had  effaced  the  marks  of 
thought  and  action,  leaving  her  very  fair,  quaint,  and  child 
ish.  "She  looks  like  a  chit  of  twelve!"  he  thought.  His 
own  face  had  taken  on  a  much  older  and  sterner  expression 
than  it  generally  wore.  The  brother  and  sister  were  curi 
ously  alike  in  feature  and  in  coloring,  but  there  the  resem 
blance  ended,  for  Dodo  was  genuinely  youthful,  while 
Roden  was  a  man  rather  old  for  his  eight-and-twenty  years, 
and  trying  more  or  less  deliberately  to  put  the  clock  back. 

Of  all  the  Carminows,  Roden,  seemingly  the  most  com 
monplace,  was  perhaps  in  reality  the  least  normal.  Inherit 
ing  a  strain  of  his  mother's  quality,  he  had  in  him  the 
makings  of  a  saint  or  a  martyr:  an  intense  silent  faith,  a 
courage  ascetically  austere.  Underneath  the  veil  of  manner 
his  life  burned  with  a  white  flame  of  purity,  and  endur 
ance,  and  singleness  of  heart.  He  kept  his  own  counsel, 
however.  So  far,  of  all  earthly  emotions  the  one  that 
swayed  his  life  most  strongly  was  a  deep  love  for  his  sister : 


10*  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

but  those  waters  ran  so  still  that  Dodo  herself  hardly  knew 
of  them.  Liking  in  Roden,  or  even  love,  by  no  means  im 
plied  confidence.  To  Auburn,  on  one  painful  occasion,  he 
had  been  compelled  to  be  explicit,  but  sorely  against  the 
grain ;  and  yet  he  liked  Auburn  well.  He  was  one  of  those 
few  men  who  are  capable  of  extremes. 

"She  looks  like  a  child  of  twelve!"  he  thought.  "I 
wonder  what  Auburn  thinks  he  sees  in  her  ?  There  is  a  lot 
of  devilry  in  Dodo,  but  he  can't  have  seen  that — what  does 
he  know  of  her?  It's  not  as  if  she  were  pretty,  and  she's 
abominably  badly  turned  out  as  a  rule.  I'd  give  twopence 
to  know  what  he  thinks  he  likes  her  for,  and  whether  it'll 
last.  Give  her  another  ten  years,  and  she  might  hold  him : 

but  Dodo ?  He's  straight,  though,  is  Auburn.  I'd  take 

his  word  as  I  would  Bernard's.  If  she  must  be  married, 
I  'd  as  soon  it  were  he  as  any  one,  but  what  a  vulgar  busi 
ness  it  all  is,  to  be  sure !  I  am  convinced  there  is  a  heaven 
we  can 't  enter  hand  in  hand. ' ' 

He  touched  her  arm.    "Dodo,  wake  up,  will  you  ?" 

Dodo  sat  up,  broad  awake  in  an  instant.  ' '  Have  you  got 
it!" 

"Rather!  He  keeps  it  loose  in  his  trousers'  pockets. 
Very  bad  plan  to  keep  money  loose  in  your  trousers'  pocket, 
especially  when  you've  a  hole  in  it." 

' '  Roddy,  you  're  a  genius !    I  'm  awfully  grateful  to  you. '  * 

* '  So  you  ought  to  be.  Frankly,  you  know,  I  think  this  is 
the  most  idiotic  idea  that  ever  entered  a  human  brain." 

"Yes,  I  know  it  is,"  assented  Dodo  placidly,  "but  it's 
much  better  to  be  idiotic  than  miserable.  I  shall  have  no 
fears  for  Charles  now  I  know  you  '11  be  there  to  catch  him — 
you're  so  reliable,  so  intelligent :  I  have  implicit  faith " 

"No  go,"  said  Roden.  "I  only  got  two  quid,  and  I  shall 
want  all  that  myself." 

To  Auburn  from  Stanton  Mere  is  no  great  distance  as 
the  erow  flies,  but  by  rail  it  is  a  different  matter.  Charles 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  108 

Auburn,  into  whose  head  the  idea  of  saving  money  on  a 
railway  fare  had  never  penetrated,  rode  over  to  Countis- 
ford  in  time  to  catch  the  last  train  to  London,  transacted  a 
little  agreeable  business  with  Manton  the  great  jeweller, 
and  caught  an  afternoon  express  down  again:  Roden  left 
early  the  next  morning,  took  a  cross-country  route,  and 
spent  his  day  in  slow  trains  and  at  junctions. 

It  was  close  on  nine  o'clock  when  he  stepped  out  on  the 
little  country  platform  of  Riversley,  the  station  nearest  to 
the  hamlet  of  Auburn.  There  was  still  a  great  deal  of  light, 
for  it  was  a  clear  sunset,  but  the  colors  were  fast  fading: 
gone  was  the  rose-red  over  the  west,  gone  the  rose-pink 
from  the  hollyhocks  that  stood  up  tall  and  stiff  in  the 
parched  borders  beside  the  platform.  Roden  made  up  to 
the  ticket  collector,  in  quest  of  direction. 

"Go  along  th'  road  for  a  matter  of  a  couple  o'  miles," 
said  the  ticket  collector  drowsily,  "or  three  it  mi-be,  an' 
you'll  fin'  it  on  y'r  right." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Roden,  languidly  polite,  "and  per 
haps  you  can  tell  me  if  you  have  seen  anything  of  Mr. 
Charles  Auburn  to-day?  I  believe  he  is  down  here." 

"No,  I  ain't:  I  never  heard  tell  on  him.  I  know  th'  oP 
governor,  happen  it's  him  you  mean?  ol'  Charley  Auburn." 

"No,  not  Sir  Charles,"  answered  Roden  the  imper 
turbable,  "his  son." 

The  ticket  collector  jerked  his  thumb  over  his  shoulder  in 
the  direction  of  the  stationmaster.  "Ask  th' ol' man.  You 
mus'n'  go  stoppin'  th'  way." 

Realizing  that  he  was  doing  so,  Roden  fell  back  to  ad 
dress  the  stationmaster,  when  he  was  himself  addressed  by 
one  of  his  fellow-passengers,  a  tall,  dark  man  in  whose 
pleasant  voice  there  lingered  the  faint  traces  of  a  Devon 
shire  burr. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,  but  I  think  I  heard  you  asking 
for  Charles  Auburn?" 

"Yes,  I  was,"  said  Roden.    "I  hare  followed  him  and 


104  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

missed  him,  and  I  'm  not  quite  sure  which  way  he  has  gone. 
Can  you  direct  me,  sir  ? " 

Roland  Carew  turned  to  the  stationmaster.  "Raymond, 
have  you  seen  Mr.  Charles  to-day  ? ' ' 

"Why  no,  sir!  I  didn't  know  he'd  been  down.  What 
train  did  he  come  by?" 

* '  One  of  the  evening  trains, ' '  said  Roden.  Mr.  Raymond 
shook  his  head. 

"I've  been  in  the  goods  office  this  hour  and  more,  and 
Walters  here  don't  know  him.  Thompson!"  beckoning  to 
a  porter,  "here's  Mr.  Carew  inquiring  after  Mr.  Charles 
Auburn.  Did  he  come  by  the  8.29?"  Thompson  looked 
doubtful.  "He's  very  tall,  you  know — well  over  six  feet, 
isn  't  he  sir  ?  And  very  free  with  his  money. ' ' 

"There  was  a  very  tall  gentleman  got  out  of  a  first-class 
smoker,  sir,  and  gave  young  Brown  a  shillin'  for  pickin' 
*ip  his  walkin '-stick.  Would  that  be  him?" 

"In  a  grey  suit  and  a  Panama  hat  and  carrying  a  light 
cane?  That  was  he,"  said  Roden;  while  Mr.  Raymond  ex 
pressed  what  was  evidently  a  genuine  regret  that  he  hadn't 
had  the  pleasure  of  a  word  with  him.  Upon  further  inquiry 
it  transpired  that  Auburn  had  left  by  a  field  path  in  the 
direction  of  his  home,  and  Roden,  having  satisfactorily  es 
tablished  the  fact  of  his  arrival  in  the  minds  of  a  cloud  of 
witnesses,  was  about  to  follow  him,  when  Roland  intervened. 

"May  I  introduce  myself?  I  am  Roland  Carew.  I  dare 
say  you  have  never  heard  my  name,"  he  said  with  his  grave 
smile,  "but  I  am  one  of  Charles  Auburn's  oldest  friends, 
and  as  my  house  is  on  the  way  to  Auburn  I  think  it  quite 
likely  he  may  call  in  there.  Will  you  let  me  drive  you 
down?  My  phaeton  is  waiting." 

Roden,  who  was  not  fond  of  walking,  accepted  with 
effusion,  and  explained  his  own  identity,  while  Roland  led 
the  way  towards  the  road,  where  a  trim  groom  stood  at  the 
head  of  a  handsome  chestnut  horse,  which  was  harnessed  to 
a  very  high  phaeton,  and  appeared  to  be  anxious  to  get  rid 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  105 

of  it.  "Jump  in,"  said  Roland,  viewing  these  manreuvres 
with  an  equanimity  which  Roden  did  not  altogether  share, 
"look  sharp  behind,  Stephens — he's  rather  fresh  to-night, 
isn't  he?" 

"Yessir,"  said  Stephens;  which,  as  Claude  Duval  (the 
name  was  of  Violet's  coinage)  had  dragged  the  phaeton 
sideways  across  the  road  and  was  doing  his  best  to  back 
it  up  the  embankment,  was  a  superfluous  remark.  Roden 
got  in,  philosophically  reflecting  that  a  man  can  die  but 
once :  Stephens  scrambled  up  behind :  and  they  went  racket 
ing  off  at  a  pace  that  tried  the  strength  of  Roland's  wrists. 
"I  had  no  idea  that  Auburn  was  coming  down  here  again," 
he  said,  with  a  frown  for  which  Claude  Duval  was  evi 
dently  not  responsible:  "is  he  going  to  see  Sir  Charles,  do 
you  think?" 

"I  believe  so." 

"I  hope  nothing  fresh  has  gone  wrong?"  Roden  hesi 
tated.  "I  think  I  may  ask  you  to  speak  openly.  You  are 
the  best  judge  of  that,  of  course,  but  Auburn  does  not  keep 
many  secrets  from  me." 

"It's  rather  a  ridiculous  affair  altogether,"  said  Roden, 
laughing.  "I'm  here  to  satisfy  a  whim  of  my  sister's  and 
what  sort  of  reception  I  shall  get  from  Auburn  I  don 't  like 
to  speculate  upon.  She  wanted  to  prevent  his  going  to 
Auburn,  but  thanks  to  the  trains  not  fitting  I  'm  afraid  I  'm 
too  late  for  that.  However,  I  '11  tell  you  the  facts,  and  you 
shall  give  me  your  opinion  of  them." 

He  outlined  the  situation:  the  letter  of  Sir  Charles,  the 
attitude  assumed  by  Mr.  Carminow,  the  nature  of  Auburn 's 
errand,  and  the  lurid  vagueness  of  Dodo's  fears.  "I  don't 
know  what  she  thinks  is  going  to  happen,"  he  explained, 
"but  there  was  no  way  to  pacify  her,  so  I  gave  in." 

Roland  gave  the  horse  a  cut  witli  the  whip  that  sent  him 
on  at  a  gallop.  "It's  four  miles  to  Auburn:  if  he  got 
out  of  the  train  by  half -past  eight  he'll  be  there  by  half- 
past  nine.  On  the  other  hand,  he  may  have  gone  in  to 


106  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

Ferndean  to  get  something  to  eat.  We'll  call  in  there  first, 
and  if  he's  not  there  we'll  walk  on  up  to  Auburn  together. 
We  shall  probably  find  him  with  Sir  Charles. ' ' 

He  spoke  in  a  tone  so  confused  and  perturbed  that  Roden 
glanced  at  him  in  wonder :  but  he  said  no  more,  and  they 
were  going  so  fast  that  Roden 's  attention  was  pretty  well 
taken  up  with  holding  himself  and  his  hat  on.  Shaving 
the  gate-post  by  the  fraction  of  an  inch,  they  dashed  up  the 
avenue  of  Ferndean  at  a  canter:  at  length  the  porch  was 
reached  and  Roland  pulled  up,  jumped  down,  and  hurried 
into  the  house.  A  minute  later  he  reappeared,  followed  by 
Violet.  "Well?"  said  Roden. 

"No,  he's  not  here — not  been  here.  Shall  we  walk  on  up 
to  Auburn  ? ' ' 

"Wouldn't  Mr.  Carminow  like  some  dinner  first?" 

"My  wife,"  said  Roland,  preoccupied  and  hasty. 

"Oh,  duty  first,  don't  you  think,  Mrs.  Carew?"  said 
Roden. 

Evidently  he  need  not  have  feared  to  be  thought  to  have 
come  on  a  fool's  errand.  Roland  was  betraying  uncontrol 
lable  nervousness,  while  even  Violet  met  his  reply  with  a 
glimmer  of  relief. 

Roland  sent  the  phaeton  away  and  took  him  by  a  short 
cut  across  the  fields  and  through  the  woods  of  Auburn, 
through  the  wet  grass  and  under  the  heavy  midsummer 
leafage.  The  sunset  was  all  gone  now,  and  the  world  was 
white  with  moonlight.  Vaulting  a  fence,  they  came  into 
the  Auburn  avenue  and  gained  the  house.  Roland  rang  the 
bell ;  after  some  moments  came  the  noise  of  bolts  and  bars 
unfastening,  and  the  door  was  opened. 

"Mr.  Charles  isn't  here,  is  he,  Davis?" 

"Mr.  Charles,  sir?" 

"Isn't  he  here?" 

"No,  sir;  he  was  at  Mrs.  Burnet's  day  before  yesterday, 
but  I  didn't  see  nothing  of  him.  He  haven't  bin  nigh  the 
place  to-day,  so  far  as  I've  heard  on." 


AN    ORDEAL   OF   HONOR  107 

* '  Not  here  ?    Are  you  sure  ? ' ' 

"Certain,  sir.  Sir  Charles  always  likes  this  door  shut  up 
of  an  evening  because  of  all  the  silver  in  the  hall.  Mr. 
Charles  haven't  bin  near  the  place  this  fifteen  years  come 
Michaelmas:  he  don't  never  come  here  now,  sir." 

Roland  pulled  out  his  watch :  it  was  close  on  a  quarter  to 
ten.  Relief,  not  unmixed  with  bewilderment,  appeared  on 
his  face.  "It  can't  have  been  he  who  was  at  the  station 
after  all,"  he  said,  turning  to  Roden.  "He  would  have 
been  here  half  an  hour  ago.  There  must  be  some  mistake." 

He  turned  back  to  the  butler.  Davis  had  been  many 
years  in  the  family,  and  his  fidelity  was  unimpeachable,  his 
discretion  no  less  so.  "Look  here,  Davis,  this  gentleman 
has  followed  Mr.  Charles  to  give  him  an  important  message. 
If  by  any  chance  he  should  come  here  to-night,  or  if  he 
comes  to-morrow  morning,  will  you  give  him  this  note? 
And  say  that  Mr.  Carminow  is  at  Ferndean,  and  must  see 
him  before  he  goes  to  Sir  Charles  or  anywhere  else." 

"Mr.  Carminow,  sir?  Very  good,  sir,"  said  Davis,  eye 
ing  with  unconcealed  curiosity  the  young  gentleman  whom 
he  readily  divined  to  be  the  brother  of  his  future  mistress. 
The  two  men  left  the  house  together.  When  they  were 
well  out  of  earshot,  Roden  put  a  question  that  had  lain  long 
in  the  recesses  of  his  mind. 

"Mr.  Carew,  what  are  you  afraid  of?" 

Quick  and  earnest  came  Roland's  answer.  "Of  ft 
quarrel." 

"A  serious  quarrel?" 

"Indeed  I  think  it  is  but  too  likely.  Consider  what 
provocation  Auburn  has  had !  and  much  more,  very  much 
more  than  you  know  of.  I  would  not  for  ten  thousand 
pounds  have  had  him  meet  Sir  Charles  to-night.  Davia 
is  a  fellow  in  a  thousand,  though:  he  will  see  to  it  that 
Auburn  gets  your  note  and  the  message,  which  I  purposely 
left  too  vague  to  be  disregarded— ^supposing,  that  is,  that 
he  does  by  any  chance  turn  up  at  Auburn  this  evening. 


108  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

We  may  find  him  at  Ferndean.  Or  he  may  have  gone  in  to 
Lesbia's:  we'll  call  and  make  sure." 

Lesbia's  cottage,  however,  proved  to  be  deserted:  no 
lights  were  burning  behind  the  closed  windows,  and  the 
discovery  of  a  can  of  milk  and  a  loaf  of  bread  left  on  the 
doorstep  settled  the  question.  "Both  out,"  said  Roland: 
"I  believe  there's  a  flower  show  on  at  Hillingdon.  Well, 
now  we'll  go  home:  you'll  be  glad  of  something  to  eat." 

It  was  so  evidently  taken  for  granted  that  Roden  's  night 
would  be  spent  at  Ferndean  that  the  traveler  acquiesced 
without  protest,  being  really  rather  tired  and  very  hungry. 
It  was  close  on  ten  before  they  reached  the  house,  where 
supper  awaited  them,  but  no  sign  of  Auburn.  After  the 
meal  followed  cigars  in  the  billiard-room,  and  a  game  of 
billiards,  cut  short  by  Roden 's  yawns,  which  he  was  unable 
to  conceal :  nor  was  he  at  all  sorry  to  be  ordered  off  to  bed. 

He  was  quite  ready  to  go  to  bed.  Yet,  oddly  enough, 
when  he  was  in  bed  he  could  not  sleep.  He  lay  listening 
to  the  various  sounds  in  the  house,  gradually  diminishing 
till  all  was  quiet :  only  through  the  open  window  the  distant 
"Hoo!  hoo!"  of  an  owl  came  plaintively  to  his  ears.  It 
was  a  hot  night,  and  he  tossed  to  and  fro,  restless,  wakeful. 
"I  wish  I  hadn't  had  that  coffee,"  he  thought  to  himself. 
"What  an  idiot  I  was!"  The  fact  remained  that  he  had 
had  the  coffee,  and  the  coffee,  or  something  else,  was  now 
in  possession  of  his  brain.  He  got  up  and  went  to  the 
window;  it  was  a  brilliant  night,  bathed  in  moonshine. 
Less  than  a  mile  away  he  could  discern  quite  clearly  the 
dark  masses  of  the  Auburn  woods.  Roland's  words  rang 
in  his  ears:  strange  words,  spoken  in  all  sincerity  by  one 
who  was  well  qualified  to  judge. 

' '  What  are  you  afraid  of  ? " 

"Of  a  quarrel." 

Indolent  Roden  had  early  grasped  the  first  principle  of 
indolence,  that  it  is  often  less  trouble  to  do  a  thing  than  to 
argue  oneself  out  of  an  inclination  to  do  it.  Rapidly  he 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  109 

dressed  himself,  reserving  only  his  boots,  which  he  carried 
in  his  hand:  opened  the  door  and  went  softly  downstairs. 
He  had  noticed  that  the  billiard-room  windows  were  not 
shuttered ;  the  door  was  locked  on  the  outside — he  had  only 
to  unlock  it,  and  let  himself  out  into  the  garden.  Across 
the  lawn,  down  the  avenue,  out  into  the  white  road,  the  road 
he  had  traversed  with  Eoland  earlier  in  the  evening:  at 
length  he  reached  the  gates  of  Auburn,  and  turned  in  at 
them,  noticing  as  he  did  so  that  a  lamp  was  burning  in  an 
upper  window  of  Mrs.  Burnet  's  cottage.  Lesbia  was  home, 
then,  home  from  the  flower  show. 

Far  off  in  the  valley  a  church  clock  was  chiming  the 
quarter  after  twelve  as  he  turned  in  at  the  gates  of  Auburn. 


XII. 


AUBURN  had  indeed  come  Hby  the  8.29,  and  had  taken 
an  hour  to  cover  the  four  milea  to  Auburn,  gaining 
the  lodge  gates  by  solitary  and  unfrequented  paths,  partly 
because  he  enjoyed  the  coolness  of  the  evening  woods,  and 
partly  because  he  was  in  no  mind  to  meet  his  friends.  "When 
he  reached  the  Auburn  avenue  it  was  the  loveliest  sum 
mer  night  imaginable,  and  the  lawns  and  shrubbery  were 
obscured  by  a  haze  of  moonlight;  mist  lay  in  swathes, 
ankle-deep  over  the  turf,  but  where  the  river  flowed  slow 
and  quiet  it  rolled  along  in  clouds,  as  if  that  sluggish  water 
were  a  steaming  flood. 

He  had  not  visited  the  house  for  fourteen  years.  Yet, 
when  he  came  in  sight  of  it,  he  found  no  change.  There  it 
stood — a  great  grey  block,  pierced  with  half  a  dozen  rows 
of  windows:  featureless,  colorless,  gaunt,  more  like  an 
asylum  than  a  private  dwelling.  The  gardens  were  beauti 
ful,  however,  and  kept  up  in  the  pink  of  perfection.  The 
borders  under  the  walls  were  dense  with  masses  of  bloom : 
pale  phlox,  thickets  of  shaded  hydrangea,  wallflowers  the 
color  of  a  tiger's  coat  and  saturating  the  air  with  odor. 
The  rear  of  the  house  was  drowned  in  woods:  from  the 
front  a  smooth  expanse  of  grass  rolled  down,  girdled  by 
woods,  to  the  river,  beyond  which  ran  the  road,  and  then 
more  woods,  and  a  stretch  of  plain  country  bordered  by  a 
low  range  of  hills.  By  day  in  this  open  district  one  could 
discern  the  smoking  chimneys,  by  night  the  lamps  in  the 
upper  windows,  of  Ferndean,  less  than  a  mile  away. 

Roland's  mistake  lay  in  taking  for  granted  that  Auburn 
would  go  in  by  the  hall  door.  So  far  from  doing  so,  in  hia 

110 


AN    ORDEAL   OF   HONOR  111 

anxiety  to  avoid  his  friends,  Auburn  made  his  way  direct 
to  the  French  windows  of  the  dining-room,  where  he  felt 
pretty  confident  of  finding  Sir  Charles.  Ah,  how  familiar 
it  was  in  every  detail !  The  room  was  oval  and  lofty,  and 
very  dark:  floor  and  walls  were  of  oak,  the  latter  richly 
carved.  Facing  him  stood  an  oaken  buffet,  piled  with  valu 
able  plate:  the  high-backed  chairs,  the  great  oval  table, 
were  all  of  oak,  and  scarcely  less  precious  than  the  silver. 
A  dozen  candles  set  in  branched  candelabra  dispersed  a 
scanty  light  over  wines  that  glowed  red  and  brown  like 
jewels  through  their  long-stemmed,  fragile  glasses.  All 
was  unchanged. 

Yes,  all  was  unchanged:  and  least  changed  of  all  was 
the  man  who  filled  the  great  chair  at  the  farther  end  of  the 
hall.  Sir  Charles  was  in  evening  dress,  trim  and  handsome, 
his  big  shoulders  squared  against  their  oak  background,  his 
head,  with  its  crown  of  thick  white  hair,  held  gallantly 
high.  Clean-shaven,  regular-featured,  sunburned,  he  was 
the  very  type  and  flower  of  the  English  country  gentle 
man — a  father  any  son  might  be  proud  of. 

He  had,  in  fact,  a  constitution  as  robust  as  his  conscience. 
At  sixty-five,  he  rode  to  hounds  four  days  a  week,  and 
wrung  from  a  countryside  which  detested  him  reluctant 
acknowledgment  of  his  pluck  and  judgment.  His  manner 
in  the  hunting  field  was  always  jovial,  and  his  kind  smiling 
good  looks  baffled  the  universal  pugnacity.  Yet  he  had  no 
friends.  In  the  country  there  must  be  something  radically 
wrong  with  a  man  if  he  cannot  win  the  sympathy  of  his 
enemies'  enemies.  But  Radicals  and  Conservatives,  Church 
and  Dissent,  high  and  low,  rich  and  poor,  one  with  another 
made  common  cause  against  Sir  Charles. 

At  all  events  his  nerves  were  steady.  Few  men  like  to 
be  watched,  least  of  all  the  Ishmaels  of  society:  yet  Sir 
Charles,  when  he  caught  sight  of  Auburn  at  the  window, 
betrayed  no  alarm.  He  turned  in  his  chair  and  laid  a  hand 
on  the  bell,  then  addressed  the  stranger  with  easy  courtesy. 


"Will  you  have  the  goodness  either  to  come  in  or  to  go 
away?" 

Auburn  replied  by  coming  forward  into  the  candle-light. 
Sir  Charles  took  his  hand  from  the  bell  and  sat  looking 
fixedly  at  his  son,  a  slight  smile  playing  round  his  lips. 
"So  it's  you,  is  it?  Well,  upon  my  word,  sir,  this  is  pretty 
unceremonious !  I  didn  't  expect  you,  Charlie  my  boy,  but 
I  am  devilish  glad  to  see  you."  He  pointed  to  a  chair  and 
Auburn  sat  down,  throwing  his  gloves  and  cane  on  the 
table.  "Give  yourself  a  glass  of  wine." 

"No  wine,  thanks.    I  dined  in  the  train." 

"But  you're  going  to  stay  the  night,  of  course?" 

"No,  I'm  afraid  I  shall  have  to  get  off  as  soon  as  pos 
sible,  thanks  all  the  same." 

The  unbiased  spectator — which  Auburn  certainly  was 
not — might  have  detected  a  shade  of  something  very  like 
disappointment  in  Sir  Charles'  blue  eyes.  "I  should  have 
thought  you  would  like  to  renew  your  acquaintance  with 
the  old  place,  seeing  it  must  be  every  day  of  ten  years  since 
you  were  down  here,  but  you  know  your  own  business  best, 
no  doubt.  Well,  now  let's  have  a  look  at  you?"  He 
stretched  out  his  hand,  and  the  candle  flames  were  drowned 
in  a  glare  of  electricity.  "Why,  you're  not  such  a  bad- 
looking  fellow  after  all !  These  ten  years  have  made  a  man 
of  you — you've  grown  up,  filled  out,  developed!  You're 
not  much  like  me,  though :  I  can't  think  where  you  get  your 
brown  eyes  and  red  hair  from." 

"So  much  the  worse  for  me,  sir." 

"Gad,  if  poor  Maude  had  been  a  more  attractive 
woman " 

"You  look  very  fit,  sir." 

"I  don't  wear  badly,  for  a  man  of  sixty-five,  do  I?  I 
should  make  a  poor  text  for  a  parson  to  preach  on.  Try 
one  of  these  cigars,  I  can  recommend  them." 

"Thanks,  I  will,"  said  Auburn. 

He  took  one,  and  lit  it  from  his  father's.    "It's  a  long 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  113 

while  since  I  was  down  here,  but  the  place  hasn't  changed 
much.  You  keep  it  in  pretty  good  order." 

"Yes,  I'm  rather  vain  of  my  garden.  You  should  see  it 
by  daylight.  The  roses  have  done  pretty  well  this  year.  I 
believe  Ranson  expects  to  take  two  or  three  first  prizes  at 
the  Hillingdon  flower  show,  which  was  on  this  afternoon." 

" That's  a  novel  interest  for  you  to  take  up,"  said 
Auburn,  raising  his  eyebrows.  Sir  Charles  smiled 
unmoved. 

"My  vices  are  leaving  me  off,  my  boy — that's  where  it  is. 
One  must  do  something  to  kill  time.  Tell  me  about  your 
self,  these  years  have  been  fuller  of  incident  for  you  than 
for  me.  You  seem  to  have  traveled  a  good  deal — I  've  heard 
of  you  from  time  to  time  in  all  quarters  of  the  globe. ' ' 

"I've  had  my  wander-years,"  said  Auburn.  He  crossed 
one  knee  over  the  other  and  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  one 
arm  thrown  out  along  the  table:  his  attitude  brought  to 
light  a  likeness  between  the  two  men  that  lay  far  deeper 
than  the  superficial  dissimilarity  of  coloring,  a  likeness  in 
height  and  frame  and  pose,  in  the  carriage  of  the  head,  and 
the  structure  of  hand  and  foot.  "I've  globe-trotted  with 
a  will  till  I'm  sick  of  globe-trotting,  and  now  I  want  to 
settle  down.  That's  what  I  came  over  to  talk  to  you  about. 
You  had  my  letter?" 

"I  did,  my  boy." 

"Yours  to  Mr.  Carminow  was,  I  suppose,  indirectly  in 
answer  to  mine. ' ' 

"I  ought  to  have  written  to  you  too,  I  know  I  ought. 
But  I  never  was  fond  of  letter-writing,  and  I  guessed  you'd 
see  what  I  said. ' ' 

"I  did  not  actually  see  it,  but  Roden  Carminow — my 
brother-in-law  that  is  to  be — told  me  what  was  in  it.  You 
were  rather  rough  on  me,  weren't  you?  Writing  to  a 
clergyman,  it  was  pretty  severe  of  you  to  say  what  you  did 
about  my  morals. ' ' 

"It  was:  you're  right.    I  felt  that  very  strongly.    But 


114  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

I  thought  it  was  my  duty  to  be  frank  with  him.  You  can't 
suppose  I  liked  saying  it?" 

"I  don't  know  what  grounds  you  were  going  on." 

Sir  Charles  laughed.  "Oh,  I  know  a  thing  or  two,"  he 
said,  shaking  his  head  in  genial  reproof.  "  You  can't  hum 
bug  your  old  father,  Charlie.  I've  been  young  myself,  and 
I  know  what  sort  of  blood  you've  got  in  your  veins.  Bless 
me!  I  don't  blame  you — young  men  must  sow  their  wild 
oats,  to  use  a  rather  hackneyed  phrase:  but  I  didn't  feel 
that  I  could  conscientiously  whitewash  you  to  Mr.  Car- 
minow.  I  suppose  he's  a  man  of  the  world,  if  he  is  a 
clergyman — he  must  know  that  young  fellows  can't  all  be 
expected  to  live  like  Saint  Anthony." 

Auburn  puffed  a  wreath  of  smoke  before  replying,  and 
watch  it  slowly  twine  away  in  faint  blue  rings. 

"Not  as  a  rule.  But  it's  a  curious  fact,  though  I  can 
hardly  understand  it  myself,  that  I  've  never  gone  in  much 
for  that  kind  of  thing.  Where  you  got  your  information 
from  I  don't  know,  but  it  wasn't  correct." 

' '  Oh,  no ! "  said  Sir  Charles,  winking.    ' '  Certainly  not ! ' ' 

"Well,  it  wasn't." 

"Come  now,  Charlie!  I'm  not  going  to  believe  that,  you 
know." 

Auburn  gave  up  that  tack  and  tried  another. 

"I  see  I  shan't  convince  you,"  he  said,  "so  we'll  drop 
the  point.  But,  my  dear  father,  you  really  must  listen  very 
seriously  to  what  I'm  going  to  say.  You've  written  to  Mr. 
Carminow  to  forbid  my  marriage.  I  needn't  remind  you 
that  you've  no  legal  right  to  interfere;  you  know  that  bet 
ter  than  I  could  tell  you.  Besides,  you  have  a  moral  right, 
and  that  means  a  great  deal  to  Mr.  Carminow.  I  want  you 
to  reconsider  your  words. ' ' 

"I'm  afraid  I  can't  do  that." 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  I  don't  want  you  to  make  a  mess  of  your  life." 

"Marrying  Miss  Carminow  won't  do  that." 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  115 

The  elder  man  laughed.  "And  that's  where  we  differ. 
Why,  the  girl  hasn't  a  penny!  I've  known  some  im 
pecunious  parsons'  daughters  who  were  very  fetching,  and 
so,  I  don 't  doubt,  is  your  young  lady — in  any  capacity  ex 
cept  that  of  a  wife. ' ' 

"But  you  want  me  to  get  married." 

"Want  you  to  get  married!  I  should  rather  think  I 
do ! "  Sir  Charles  said  hotly.  ' '  Here  you  are  at  thirty-five, 
and  no  family!  I  don't  ask  you  to  remember  your  duty  to 
the  State,  but  you  might  think  of  the  House !  Suppose  you 
were  killed  to-night  in  the  train,  what  would  become  of  the 
title?  I've  told  you  over  and  over  again  that  it  would  go 
to  some  brute  of  a  fellow  out  in  Australia,  without  an  'h'  to 
his  name — 'Kid'  Auburn's  grandson,  the  descendant  of  a 
man  who  had  to  cut  and  run  to  keep  out  of  jail !  But  you 
youngsters  are  all  alike,  you  think  of  nothing  but  your 
selves.  Of  course  I  want  you  to  marry ! ' ' 

"Then  why  place  difficulties  in  my  way?" 

"I  didn't  say  I  wanted  you  to  marry  a  country  parson's 
daughter  without  a  penny,  did  I?  Yes,  the  name's  good 
enough — but  what  sort  of  breeding,  what  sort  of  manners 
can  a  girl  of  that  class  possess?  Your  wife  ought  to  be 
able  to  cut  a  dash  in  the  county,  give  dinners  and  balls  and 
all  that  sort  of  thing.  I  don 't  think  so  much  of  the  money 
question  even — though  you'd  have  found  yourself  in  Queer 
Street  long  ago  but  for  the  way  I've  nursed  the  property: 
but  I  do  insist  upon  it  that  you  shan't  marry  a  girl  who 
tumbles  over  her  own  train." 

"But  should  I  be  likely  to  want  to  marry  a  girl  who 
tumbled  over  her  own  train ! ' ' 

Quintessential  cynicism  spoke  in  the  lift  of  Sir  Charles' 
eyebrows,  the  shrug  of  his  shoulders.  "Oh,  when  a  man's 
in  love 1" 

"What's  your  idea  of  being  in  love?" 

"Gratification  of  the  senses,  my  boy — purely  that  and 
nothing  more.  You  don't  like  it?  I  didn't  grasp  it  so 


116  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

clearly  myself  when  I  was  your  age.  Wait  till  you're  sixty- 
five  !  I  've  seen  a  good  deal  of  it  in  my  time,  good  and  bad, 
pour  le  bon  motif  and  the  other  kind,  and  you  may  take  it 
from  me  that  that 's  what  it  comes  to.  You  believe  you  love 
her  because  she  has  an  intellect  and  a  soul,  but  you  take  it 
from  me,  Charlie  my  boy,  that  the  odds  are  she  has  nothing 
but  a  body." 

"Oh,  you're  altogether  wrong  about  it,"  said  Auburn, 
smiling. 

He  knocked  the  ash  from  his  cigar  and  laid  it  down  on 
the  tray,  the  light  falling  on  his  dark  lined  face  and  curi 
ously  expressionless  eyes.  ' l  The  whole  thing  isn  't  a  bit  as 
you  imagine  it.  The  Carminows  are  of  good  family,  to 
begin  with :  Mr.  Carminow  is  related  to  the  Amhersts,  and 
his  wife  was  a  Wray  of  Suffolk.  And  they  don't  want  me 
to  marry  Dodo  at  all;  they  dislike  the  notion  intensely, 
because  I  'm  not  orthodox.  You  think  they  caught  me,  but 
you're  mistaken,  honestly  you  are.  Dodo's  only  nineteen, 
you  know,  and  very  unworldly — I'm  sure  you'd  like  her  if 
you  met  her." 

"Pretty,  eh?"  said  Sir  Charles. 

"Very  pretty." 

"What's  she  like?" 

"Kather  small,  very  slight  and  fair:  blue  eyes,  fair  hair, 
pale  complexion.  That  sounds  characterless,  but  she  isn't; 
she  has  quite  a  will  of  her  own. ' ' 

"Pretty  figure?" 

"Very;  she  carries  herself  like  a  Frenchwoman." 

"Not  my  style,"  Sir  Charles  said,  shrugging  his  big 
shoulders.  "I  like  them  more  full-blown.  Every  man  to 
his  taste — I  dare  say  she's  a  taking  little  thing.  You've 
evidently  a  bad  case,  too.  That  comes  of  not  getting  it  over 
early:  I've  seen  it  thousands  of  times  if  I've  seen  it  once — 
there's  no  fool  like  a  man  of  five-and-thirty  when  he  falls 
in  love  for  the  first  time." 

"Quite  so.    As  a  matter  of  fact  I  am  most  devoutly  in 


AN    ORDEAL   OF   HONOR  117 

love,  and  an  utter  fool  about  Dodo.  It  takes  some  time, 
you  know,  to  get  over  it  when  it's  a  bad  case.  If  I  don't 
marry  Dodo,  it'll  be  five  years  before  I  look  at  another 
woman.  I'm  not  keen  on  feminine  society,  as  you  are.  I 
shall  probably  go  off  into  the  wilds  and  solace  myself  by 
shooting  or  getting  shot." 

"I  see  all  that,"  Sir  Charles  nodded.  "You've  got  the 
pull  on  me  there,  I'm  not  denying  it.  They  won't  let  you 
have  her  without  my  blessing:  but  if  I  don't  let  you  have 
her  you  won't  have  any  one  else.  Is  that  how  the  affair 
stands?" 

"Precisely.  How  quickly  you  take  my  point!  You  state 
the  case  like  a  lawyer." 

"It's  a  confounded  awkward  case  for  me.  Of  course  I 
want  you  to  marry ;  I  want  an  heir  to  the  property.  Is  she 
pretty  healthy?" 

"Who?" 

"The  girl— Dodo." 

"Very,  I  believe." 

"That's  in  her  favor.  But  you  ought  to  marry  money, 
my  boy.  We're  not  rich,  as  incomes  go  nowadays;  and 
with  these  confounded  land  taxes  we  shan't  get  any  richer. 
Birth,  she  has  birth:  but  birth  is  exactly  what  I  wouldn't 
stickle  for.  We've  got  birth  ourselves.  What  you  ought 
to  do  is  to  marry  some  fine,  healthy  brewer's  or  banker's 
daughter — bring  a  little  interest  into  the  family,  some 
American  pork  or  English  beer:  I  shouldn't  object  to 
grocery  if  it  was  big  enough.  Then  the  next  step  would 
be  a  seat  in  Parliament  and  a  peerage.  But  you'll  never 
do  that  if  you  marry  a  country  parson's  daughter.  I  say, 
Charlie." 

"Well?" 

"You're  set  on  getting  this  girl!" 

"Set." 

"Must  you  marry  her?" 

"I  beg  your  pardon!" 


118  AN    ORDEAL    OF   HONOR 

"Oh,  you  know  what  I  mean.  If  she's  fond  of  you — 
which  I  dare  say  she  is,  for  you're  a  good-lookin'  fellow — 
you  ought  to  be  able  to  get  round  her.  There  'd  be  a  bit  of 
a  scandal,  I  dare  say,  but  it  'd  be  worth  it. ' ' 

"Oh,  I  shouldn't  mind  the  scandal,"  said  Auburn. 
"We're  used  to  that  in  our  family.  It's  our  notion  of  the 
domestic  tie." 

He  had  time  for  one  last  gleam  of  bitter  merriment,  an 
ironical  laugh  at  his  own  and  Mr.  Carminow's  expense, 
before  mind  and  reflection  were  drowned  under  the  incom 
ing  tide  of  anger,  long  resolutely  dammed.  He  rose  to  his 
feet,  and  Sir  Charles  rose  too,  and  they  faced  each  other, 
Sir  Charles  flushed  and  startled,  Auburn  deadly  white. 

"You  young  puppy,  what  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

"How  many  women  have  you  ruined  in  your  time? 
They  were  better  off  than  the  one  you  married,  though: 
you  didn't  kill  them." 

"What — what  do  you  mean?" 

"As  you  killed  my  mother." 

"Good  God!" 

"Don't  swear,  there's  nothing  to  be  afraid  of." 

"You  young  devil!"  Sir  Charles  cried  out. 

He  had  his  share  of  vices,  but  he  was  no  coward,  and 
Auburn's  cold,  jeering  face  fired  him  to  a  blaze  of  temper. 
He  caught  up  Auburn's  stick  from  the  table  and  struck  at 
his  son — no  mean  blow,  for  a  man  of  sixty-five.  But  in  a 
twinkling  Auburn  had  seized  him  by  both  wrists  and  bent 
them  back.  For  an  appreciable  space  of  time  Sir  Charles 
was  in  danger,  for  Auburn,  with  his  great  strength,  was 
forcing  him  to  his  knees,  and  had  both  will  and  power  to 
beat  him  down.  The  survival  of  the  civilized  instinct,  so 
slow  to  die  in  modern  men,  came  between  him  and  the  red, 
angry,  startled  face :  he  shook  Sir  Charles  from  him  with  a 
violence  that  sent  the  elder  man  staggering  to  the  wall,  and 
went  to  the  window.  He  had  closed  it  when  he  came  in, 
and  the  hasp  caught;  he  struck  the  glass  with  his  hand, 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  119 

shivered  it,  and  went  out  into  the  night.    It  was  then  close 
on  eleven  o'clock. 

Towards  the  small  hours  even  a  midsummer  night  gets 
cold.  When  Auburn  began  to  get  himself  in  hand  again  he 
was  lying  on  the  grass  near  the  river,  his  clothes  saturated 
with  dew  and  with  the  fog  that  rolled  between  him  and  the 
declining  moon.  He  looked  at  his  watch :  it  said  five  minutes 
to  one.  What  an  interminable  night ! 

He  had  been  walking  up  and  down  the  paths  among  the 
shrubberies  for  close  on  two  hours,  in  a  frame  of  mind 
bordering  on  madness:  the  flame  that  sprang  of  thirty 
years  of  smoldering  hate.  Later  he  found  that  he  could 
piece  together,  under  the  touch  of  circumstances  that  re 
called  them,  a  moment  here  and  a  moment  there,  as  one 
does  by  dreams :  but  there  was  no  coherency  in  these  recol 
lections.  "It  is  as  if  I  had  been  drunk!"  he  said  to  him 
self.  He  was  sane  and  sober  now,  and  inclined  to  wonder 
at  himself  for  getting  in  such  a  passion ;  his  interest  in  the 
whole  affair  had  sunk,  for  the  time  being,  to  zero. 

He  pulled  himself  to  his  feet.  He  was  wet  through  and 
aching  with  fatigue  and  cold:  every  blade  of  grass  was 
tipped  with  a  glistening  drop,  and  the  print  of  his  own 
body  was  outlined  dark  upon  the  white,  wet  turf.  Where 
could  he  find  a  lodging  for  the  night?  Village  inns  go  to 
bed  at  ten ;  friendship,  even  that  of  a  Roland  Carew,  draws 
the  line  at  a  visit  in  the  small  hours.  But  there  was  one 
door  which  would  never,  as  he  well  believed,  be  closed 
against  him.  He  found  his  way  back  to  the  avenue  and  out 
of  the  great  gates  and  up  the  narrow  path  between  the 
gooseberry  bushes  to  Rose  Cottage.  All  was  dark  and  still, 
except  for  that  one  candle  burning  in  the  sick  girl 's  room. 
Well  did  Auburn  know  Lesbia's  window:  he  threw  up  a 
handful  of  pebbles  and  heard  them  rattle  on  the  glass  like 
hail.  Scarcely  a  moment  later,  Lesbia's  dark  head  looked 
out  of  the  open  easement. 


120  AN    ORDEAL    OF   HONOR 

"Who's  there?" 

"I — Charles  Auburn.    Will  you  take  me  in?" 

"My  bairn,  where  have  you  been?" 

"Up  at  the  house.    Let  me  in,  there's  a  dear." 

Lesbia  vanished.  Auburn  anticipated  delay,  but  no :  in 
a  moment  later  she  opened  the  door  to  him,  fully  dressed, 
and  with  her  long  black  hair  coiled  behind  her  head,  as  she 
always  wore  it.  "What  have  you  been  doing,  Charles? 
Where  do  you  come  from?  Why!"  she  grasped  his  arm, 
'  'you  're  wet !  What  is  it  ? " 

"Dew,"  said  Auburn  cheerfully.  "I've  been  wandering 
about  in  the  fog  since  eleven  o'clock.  I've  only  had  a  scrap 
with  Sir  Charles." 

"A  scrap  with  Sir  Charles!"  repeated  Lesbia. 

She  led  the  way  into  the  kitchen.  Auburn  followed;  in 
a  twinkling  the  lamp  was  lighted,  and  the  fire,  laid  ready 
for  the  morning.  "Sit,"  said  Lesbia,  drawing  forward  a 
chair.  Auburn  dropped  into  it  and  held  out  his  long  brown 
hands  to  the  quickening  flames.  Lesbia  set  on  a  tiny  kettle 
to  boil,  then  vanished,  to  return  with  a  tumbler  and  a  bottle 
of  whiskey.  "There  now,  drink  that,"  said  she,  adminis 
tering  hot  grog  with  a  practical  air.  Auburn  drank  it  off 
with  a  grimace  (he  preferred  it  cold),  but  was  immediately 
the  better  for  it,  and  awoke  to  a  languid  interest  in  things 
around  him.  "Why  aren't  you  in  bed?"  he  asked  between 
yawns. 

"Jeannie's  ill:  I've  been  up  with  her  half  the  night. 
She  would  go  to  see  the  rose  show  at  Hillingdon,  and  it 
broke  her  down.  Now  what  '11  I  do  with  you  ? ' ' 

She  stood  regarding  him,  hands  on  hips.  "Here's  the 
time,"  she  said  with  a  grim  humor  that  was  all  her  own, 
"when  I  begin  to  miss  that  departed  saint  of  mine.  If  I'd 
a  man's  shirt  and  a  pair  of  breeches  in  the  house,  I'd  have 
those  wet  clothes  off  you  and  you  should  go  to  bed  in  a 
Christian  way,  but  I  doubt  you'd  not  be  much  the  better 
of  one  of  my  nightgowns.  Eh !  I  never  thought,  when  I 


AN    ORDEAL   OF    HONOR 

followed  him  to  the  grave,  that  I  should  come  to  wish  him 
back  again — but  there's  no  telling  what  may  happen." 

In  the  end  she  made  him  up  a  bed  in  front  of  the  kitchen 
fire,  piled  clothes  on  him  till  he  was  suffocated,  and  left 
him  sworn  over  not  to  throw  them  off :  and  for  the  rest  of 
that  strange  midsummer  night  Charles  Auburn  slept  like 
the  dead. 


XIII. 

AWAKENED  at  five  by  Lesbia's  entrance,  Auburn  was 
packed  upstairs  to  enjoy  a  cold  tub  in  a  garret  and 
to  shave  himself  with  the  razor  of  the  unregretted  Alexan 
der,  and  by  half-past  six  was  ready  to  be  off.  He  did  not, 
however,  return  by  Eiversley,  for  he  found  Lesbia  prepar 
ing  to  tramp  into  Hillingdon  to  get  fresh  medicine  for 
Jeannie,  and  could  not  do  less  than  offer  to  go  instead, 
though  at  the  price  of  a  five-mile  walk  and  the  sacrifice  of 
his  return  ticket  ;  Hillingdon  being  on  another  line.  Lesbia 
made  but  faint  demur  ;  she  was  loth  to  leave  Jeannie. 

Arrived  at  Stanton  Mere,  Auburn  found  the  Kectory 
deserted.  M.  le  cure  was  taking  a  wedding  for  a  brother 
parson  :  M.  Roden  had  vanished  the  day  before,  Aline  knew 
not  whither:  Mademoiselle  and  M.  Caron  were  gone  for  a 
pique-nique  with  Mile.  Treveur.  But  stay,  added  Aline. 
Mademoiselle  had  left  a  billet  for  Monsieur  if  he  should 
come. 

And  after  some  searching  she  produced  a  line  from  Dodo. 


DEAR  CHARLES,  —  "We  are  gone  to  Cassar'a  Camp. 
There  is  some  cold  beef  on  the  table  if  you  are  hungry  :  if 
not,  we  have  sandwiches  for  four."  D.  C." 

Auburn  decided  in  favor  of  the  sandwiches,  and  struck 
off  across  the  Plain  for  Cseesar's  Camp.  It  was  a  lonely 
spot,  and  wild  enough  in  winter,  but  lovely  in  the  high 
summer  weather  :  a  fortification  of  thymy  turf  encircling  a 
shallow  dew-pond  which  glassed  the  blue  of  the  unclouded 
sky.  From  a  great  way  off  he  saw  them  gathered  on  the 

122 


AN    ORDEAL   OF    HONOR  123 

western  side  of  that  green  rampart,  under  the  shade  of  a 
solitary  oak.  The  wind  was  blowing  over  the  heath,  wild 
and  sweet,  but  cool  as  a  wind  at  sea :  a  broad  high  tone  that 
is  never  heard  in  cities,  a  shrill  monotonous  chant  that  had 
gone  singing  on,  year  in,  year  out,  unbroken  and  unper 
turbed,  over  the  leagues  of  the  upland  grass  and  heather. 
There  was  exhilaration  in  it,  and  sadness:  it  had  chanted 
the  requiem  of  the  last  sacrifice  offered  on  the  dread  altar 
of  the  Plain,  it  would  murmur  the  same  merry  tune  when 
those  who  now  listened  to  it  had  crumbled  away  into  dust. 
To  Auburn,  in  the  pride  of  his  keen  vitality,  its  cry  was  a 
challenge.  Let  the  dead  bury  their  dead ! 

Fey,  Caron  thought,  was  the  word  for  him,  as  he  came 
across  the  turf  bareheaded,  with  the  afternoon  sunlight 
striking  down  upon  his  chestnut  hair  and  dark,  merry  eyes. 

"Caron,"  he  said,  "I've  proved  nothing.  I've  been 
ignominiously  kicked  out  of  my  paternal  home  with  a  flea 
in  my  ear.  But  I'm  going  to  marry  Dodo  all  the  same." 

He  threw  himself  down  on  the  grass  and  dropped  a  packet 
on  Dodo 's  knee,  while  Caron  shrugged  his  shoulders  as  one 
who  disowns  responsibility,  and  Grace  dived  into  the 
hamper.  Caron 's  insouciance  and  the  keen  goodwill  of 
Grace  soothed  the  wanderer,  each  in  its  way.  They  be 
longed  to  the  Plain — how  far  unlike  the  heavy,  choking 
woods  of  Auburn!  And  Dodo?  Dodo  served  admirably 
to  hang  jewels  on.  Her  hair  was  the  sunlight,  her  eyes  the 
blue  sky,  while  the  green  of  the  turf  and  the  hazy  whiteness 
of  the  hills  were  crystallized  in  her  pearl  collar,  with  its 
fringe  of  trembling  emeralds.  To  what  depth  they  loved 
each  other  he  cared  as  little  as  he  knew :  content  to  play  at 
extravagant  adoration,  while  she  remained  gay,  amiable, 
and  mocking.  No  tragic  airs,  in  heaven's  name!  Human 
existence  is  a  small  thing,  said  the  wind:  dust  in  the 
balance,  chaff  on  the  threshing-floor  of  nature. 

Dodo  and  Caron  were  pledged  to  dine  with  the  Trevors; 
the  invitation  was  extended  to  Auburn  and  towards  seven 


124  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

o'clock  they  all  turned  in  at  the  gates  of  Trevor  Hall,  an  old 
brick  manor-house  lying  away  from  the  road  among 
orchards  and  fir  groves.  As  they  drew  near  they  caught 
sight  of  a  cluster  of  folk  gathered  on  the  broad  steps  before 
the  porch.  "Visitors — what  a  nuisance!"  said  Grace. 
' '  Can  you  see  who  it  is,  Car  ? ' ' 

"Those  on  the  steps  are  Sir  George  and  Lady  Trevor,*' 
Caron  answered,  screwing  up  his  dark  eyes.  "I  know  my 
lady  by  her  sun-bonnet.  The  third  looks  uncommonly  like 
Roden " 

"It  is  Roden,  I  believe,"  said  Auburn  in  a  perplexed 
voice,  "but  who  the  dickens  has  he  got  with  him?" 

"A  tall,  dark  fellow  whom  I  don't  know." 

"Do  you  know  him,  Charles?" 

"It  looks  like— but  it  can't  be " 

"Like  whom?" 

"Like,  oh,  it's  absurd — sorry,  dear  child!  Like  Roland 
Carew." 

Caron  sent  his  voice  up  the  avenue.  "What's  the  mat 
ter  ? — is  anything  wrong  ? ' ' 

There  was  no  reply,  and  a  few  moments  later  they  met 
the  group  face  to  face:  Sir  George  and  Lady  Trevor,  Mr. 
Carminow,  Bernard,  Roden,  and  Roland  Carew.  Their 
constraint  was  so  plain  and  so  odd  that  even  Grace  was 
frightened. 

Auburn  went  straight  to  Roland.  "Is  anything  wrong 
with  Violet?" 

"Are  you  mad?  I  came  to  help  you  to  get  out  of  the 
country. ' ' 

The  answer  was  so  remote  from  Auburn's  wildest  con 
ception  that  it  fairly  took  his  breath  away.  The  word  fell 
to  Dodo. 

"Father!  Roden!"  she  said,  "for  pity's  sake  tell  us 
what  has  happened!  For  we  have,  none  of  us,  the  very 
faintest  idea." 

"I  am  afraid  Charles  knows  only  too  well,  my  darling," 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  185 

said  Mr.  Carminow,  his  voice  shaking  so  that  he  could 
hardly  speak  plain. 

"Do  you  know,  Charles?" 

"Not  from  Adam,"  said  Auburn,  shrugging  his  shoul 
ders;  "some  malentendu,  probably,  which  would  be  dis 
pelled  if  anybody  had  the  courage  to  open  his  lips. ' ' 

"Grace,"  this  was  Lady  Trevor  to  her  daughter,  "go  up 
to  your  room. ' ' 

"Yes,"  said  Sir  George  with  a  touch  of  his  magisterial 
manner,  "it's  impossible  to  discuss  the  affair  in  the  presence 
of  ladies.  Go,  my  dear,  to  your  room:  and  I'm  sure  Mr. 
Carminow  will  agree  with  me  that  Dodo  had  better  run 
away  too. ' ' 

Lady  Trevor  pulled  Grace  by  the  arm.  "Do  come,  dear! 
you  hear  what  papa  says." 

"I  will  if  Dodo  does." 

"I?"  said  Dodo.  "Oh,  Lady  Trevor!  would  you,  if  it 
were  Sir  George?" 

"My  dear,  don't  say  such  things!"  said  Lady  Trevor 
hastily.  Her  tone  startled  Dodo  more  than  anything  that 
had  gone  before. 

"Why,  what  has  he  done?" 

"Nothing,"  averred  Auburn,  answering  Dodo,  but  look 
ing  at  Roland. 

"Hypocrite!"  said  Bernard,  drawing  all  eyes  to  himself 
by  his  tone.  "If  nobody  else  has  got  the  pluck  to  speak,  I 
will.  It 's  in  all  the  evening  papers,  so  it  can 't  long  be  kept 
quiet.  Sir  Charles  Auburn  was  murdered  last  night,  or 
early  this  morning,  under  circumstances  which  leave  no 
doubt  who  did  it." 

"Murdered!"  said  Auburn,  turning  as  white  as  a  sheet. 

"Oh,  Charles!"  said  Dodo,  slipping  her  fingers  into  his 
hand,  "it  was  not  you." 

It  was  not,  indeed ;  but  for  the  first  moment  he  had  felt 
as  if  it  were.  He  had  so  heartily  longed  to  do  justice  on 
his  father  that  it  seemed  as  if  it  must  have  been  his  wish 


126  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

that  had  done  the  work.  Dodo's  words — they  were  not  a 
question — recalled  his  wits. 

' '  Murdered  ?    Last  night  ?    Impossible ! ' ' 

"Oh  yes,"  Bernard  answered  with  his  quiet  sneer,  " im 
possible  and  improbable  too,  if  you  like.  Keep  your  story 
to  yourself:  I  for  one  wouldn't  hesitate  to  swear  to  an  in 
consistency  at  the  trial." 

"Bernard,"  said  Mr.  Carminow  in  horror,  "think  of 
your  sister!" 

"But  I  was  with  him  till  eleven  o'clock!"  said  Auburn. 

"Take  care!"  said  Sir  George  quickly.  "Bernard  is 
quite  right,  Mr.  Auburn — though,  considering  what  provo 
cation  you  received,  I  cannot  say  I  like  his  tone. ' ' 

"But  do  you  mean  that  you  think  I  did  it?"  asked 
Auburn.  No  one  answered.  "Koland!  do  you  think  I  did 
it?"  Roland's  heavy  eyes  fell.  Auburn  walked  straight 
up  to  him  and  seized  his  hand.  "Answer  me." 

"Don't— oh,  don't,  Auburn." 

"Don't  what?" 

"What  is  the  good  of  this?  We  know  you  did  it.  Own 
the  truth :  it  would  be  more  manly.  It  breaks  my  heart  to 
see  you  pretending." 

Auburn  dropped  his  hands  and  stepped  back  with  a  look 

of  painful  surprise.  "I  should  have  thought "  he 

began,  and  broke  off.  "But — murdered!  Is  he  dead, 
then?" 

"Dead  enough,  as  you  very  well  know.  It's  no  good 
denying  it,"  said  Bernard.  "You're  a  capital  actor,  and 
it  wasn't  a  bad  plan  to  sneak  off  like  that  from  Hillingdon ; 
but  unluckily,  you  see,  Roden  had  let  out  that  you  were 
down  there,  and  once  that  fact  was  known  it  was  all  as 
clear  as  daylight.  You  reckoned,  I  suppose,  on  not  being 
recognized  at  Riversley  station  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  Bernard,  hold  your  tongue!"  said  Roden.  "Go — 
leave  us  alone  if  you  can't  be  quiet:  no  one  wants  you 
here." 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  127 

Roden  was  deadly  pale,  paler  than  Roland  Carew ;  unlike 
Roland  Carew,  lie  did  not  look  as  though  he  had  shed  tears, 
but  he  looked,  Auburn  thought,  as  though  he  had  received 
an  awful  shock.  His  burst  of  nervous  anger  was  in  itself  a 
sign  of  something  very  wrong.  But  he  collected  himself 
and  went  on  more  quietly. 

"It  really  is  true,  Auburn.  Sir  Charles  was  murdered 
last  night  or  early  this  morning — between  twelve  and  one, 
the  doctor  says.  He  was  struck  on  the  head  with  a  stick, 
and  killed  on  the  spot.  I  was  breakfasting  with  Mr.  Carew 
when  we  heard  the  news  from  the  postman.  Thanks  to  my 
inquiries  at  the  station,  they  all  know  you  were  down  there. 
The  boy  who  picked  up  your  cane  on  the  platform  has 
identified  the  one  that  was  found  on  the  floor  near  the  body. 
The  whole  countryside  is  ringing  with  it;  they're  all  very 
sorry  for  you,  but  they  take  for  granted  you're  guilty." 

"Yon  don't?" 

"I?  no,  I  don't." 

"You're  fond  of  minorities,"  was  Auburn's  dry 
comment. 

For  there  was  not  one  of  the  other  men  who  believed 
him.  Sir  George  was  full  of  grave  pity:  Mr.  Carminow 
was  turned  into  an  old  man  by  the  shock:  Bernard  was 
cynically  triumphant,  Caron  aghast.  Misery  and  shame 
were  written  upon  Roland's  fine,  haggard  features.  In 
most  cases,  the  friends  of  an  accused  man  will  incontinently 
swear  him  innocent  because  their  minds  cannot  take  in  the 
idea  that  he  may  be  guilty.  Such  things  don 't  happen  out 
side  the  newspapers,  or  at  all  events  they  don't  happen  to 
people  in  one's  own  set.  But  in  Auburn's  case  there  was 
no  such  feeling  of  surprise.  Between  Sir  Charles'  scanda 
lous  reputation  and  his  son's  notoriously  hot  temper  it 
seemed  only  too  likely  that  mischief  might  have  come  about, 
and  many  minds  would  have  leaped  to  a  suspicion  with  far 
less  evidence  to  go  on. 

Clear-eyed  Grace  had  her  arm  locked  round  Dodo 's  waist. 


128  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

"Idiots!"  she  cried,  undutifully  including  in  this  category 
her  father  and  mother,  "can't  you  see  he's  speaking  the 
truth?" 

"I  would  give  my  right  hand  to  believe  it,  Miss  Trevor," 
said  Roland,  "but  I  can't.  Don't  kindle  hopes  in  that  poor 
girl,  which  can  never  be  realized." 

"Let  me  think,"  said  Auburn.  He  put  his  hand  up  to 
his  head  as  if  he  felt  dazed;  and  so  he  did.  "Do  you  say, 
Roland,  that  you  came  up  here  to  get  me  out  of  the  country  T 
Am  I  in  danger,  then?" 

"There's  a  warrant  out  against  you." 

"Which  you  signed,  I  suppose?" 

"No,"  said  Roland  simply,  "I  wasn't  asked.  I  think 
they  knew  about  us. ' ' 

' '  A  warrant  out  against  me ! ' '  repeated  Auburn.  After 
wards  he  was  sorry  to  have  made  Roland  wince,  but  at  the 
time  he  did  not  think  twice  of  it.  "But  you  are  not  going 
to  tell  me  that  I'm  in  actual  danger  of  arrest?" 

"How  can  I  say?  Before  ten  o'clock  this  morning  they 
knew  you  had  gone  from  Lesbia's  to  Hillingdon." 

"Nine  hours  ago.  Grant  them  ordinary  skill  in  picking 
up  a  trail,  and,  by  Jove!  I  may  sleep  in  jail  to-night." 

"It  is  possible.  They  will  wire  to  the  nearest  police 
station — Amesbury,  Sir  George  Trevor  tells  me — to  send 
over  a  man  to  look  for  you." 

"Do  they  allow  bail?" 

"Not  in  a — not  in  these  cases." 

* '  Not  in  a  murder  case,  do  you  mean  ? ' '  said  Auburn,  his 
lip  curling.  "Well,  it  is  a  devilish  awkward  situation — 
beg  your  pardon,  Lady  Trevor.  When  did  you  come, 
Roland?" 

"Before  two  o'clock.  You  might  have  got  clean  away 
by  this  time.  I  telegraphed  to  Paterson  to  have  the  yacht 
ready  to  sail  at  a  moment's  notice " 

"You're  a  pretty  magistrate!"  Auburn  exclaimed. 
"Why,  man,  you  must  be  out  of  your  senses!  Do  you 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  129 

know  what  you'd  get,  for  compounding  a  felony  and  de 
frauding  the  ends  of  justice  ?  And  where  did  you  propose 
that  I  should  go  to — Callao  ?  Thanks,  I  'd  rather  stand  my 
trial!  They  can't  hang  me,  I  should  think."  He  felt, 
rather  than  saw,  the  shiver  that  went  over  them  all.  ' '  Oh, 
apparently  you  think  they  can!  Good  God!  what  sort  of 
a  net  is  this  I  've  got  into  ?  I  might  have  known  he  would 
not  let  me  go  so  easily " 

"Who's  this  coming  up  the  avenue?"  said  Dodo. 

' '  Oh,  Auburn — Auburn,  old  man ! ' '  cried  out  Carew. 

Involuntarily,  he  made  a  movement  to  throw  himself 
between  Auburn  and  the  stranger :  a  big,  quiet  man  in  the 
sober  dress  of  a  sergeant  of  police.  Caron,  who  had  never 
taken  his  artist 's  eyes  from  Auburn 's  face  since  the  begin 
ning  of  the  scene,  read  in  it  the  rush  of  a  dozen  sensa 
tions — pride,  anger,  dread,  the  physical  instinct  of  flight, 
amid  all  the  unconquerable  desire  to  laugh.  But  the  ruling 
principle  was  a  noble  kind  of  pride.  Auburn  put  his  arm 
round  Dodo  and  she  leaned  against  him,  with  no  more 
regard  of  onlookers  than  if  they  had  been  in  a  desert. 
They  had  so  few  moments  for  such  a  long  farewell. 

"My  darling,  I  must  go." 

"To  prison?" 

"If  it  were  to  death,  you  wouldn't  have  me  cut  and 
run?" 

"No:  you're  innocent." 

Auburn's  next  words,  murmured  with  bent  head,  were 
inaudible,  but  all  heard  Dodo's  reply  and  remembered  it. 

"Is  this  love  or  loyalty  you're  giving  me?" 

"Love  and  loyalty,  through  this  world  and  the  next." 

The  policeman  came  up,  and  Auburn  released  Dodo,  and 
made  Roland  move  aside.  The  man  in  blue  was  civil, 
deprecating,  not  unsympathetic,  but  professionally  wide 
awake  :  he  stepped  up  to  Auburn,  touching  his  cap  impar 
tially  to  him  and  to  the  rest  of  the  group,  with  some  of 
whom  he  was,  of  course,  familiar. 


130  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

"Beg  pardon,  sir — Mr.  Auburn?" 

"Yes." 

"I'm  sorry  to  say,  sir,  it's  my  painful  duty  to  arrest 
you " 

* '  You  have  a  warrant  ?  Don 't  read  it  here, ' '  said  Auburn 
quickly.  "I'll  come  with  you." 

*  '.Very  good,  sir. ' ' 

He  stood  expectant.  Auburn  looked  round  at  his  friends, 
and  again  had  to  crush  down  that  wild  desire  to  laugh. 
"There  isn't  much  time  for  farewells,  is  there?"  he  said. 
"Well,  goodbye,  all  of  you."  No  one  answered,  and  he 
dropped  his  hand  on  Roland 's  shoulder.  ' '  'Bye,  Roland — 
give  my  love  to  Violet.  I  shall  see  some  of  you  again,  I 
dare  say." 

Not  one  of  them  could  find  courage  to  reply,  and  he  left 
them  without  another  word,  baring  his  head  to  the  ladies. 
They  watched  him  go  down  the  avenue  with  his  easy,  swing 
ing  tread,  beside  the  trim  soldierly  figure  in  blue.  He  did 
not  look  back. 


XIV. 

AMONG  the  many  strange  characteristics  of  human 
nature,  not  the  least  strange  is  the  rapidity  with 
which  it  grows  used  to  the  unusual.  Twenty-four  hours 
earlier,  if  any  one  had  told  Dodo  what  was  coming,  she 
would  have  refused  to  believe  that  such  a  thing  could  hap 
pen,  or  that,  if  it  did  happen,  it  could  do  less  than  turn  her 
whole  life  upside  down.  It  had  happened :  it  seemed  already 
to  have  happened  years  ago,  to  be  as  familiar  as  a  twice- 
told  tale:  and  the  course  of  her  duties,  on  the  evening  of 
Auburn's  arrest,  flowed  on  as  smoothly  as  if  it  had  never 
happened  at  all. 

Not  so  in  the  village,  for  that  was  teeming  with  excite 
ment.  Fell,  the  blacksmith's  son,  bicycling  home  from 
Amesbury  with  a  copy  of  the  North  Wilts  Evening  Star 
doubled  up  in  his  pocket,  dropped  in  at  the  Fox  and 
Hounds  to  spread  the  tidings  of  the  Auburn  murder,  and 
was  met  with  the  news  that  "that  there  young  feller  oop  t* 
Carminows"  had  been  seen  driving  out  of  Stantoa  Mere  in 
a  dogcart  in  the  custody  of  a  sergeant  of  police.  Country 
districts  are  dry  grass,  easily  set  aflame.  "When  Caron 
crossed  the  Market  Square  to  catch  the  evening  post,  he  was 
infuriated  to  find  that  heads  popped  out  of  every  doorway, 
and  a  buzz  of  talk  sprang  up  behind  him  as  he  passed. 

But  at  the  Vicarage  all  was  quiet  enough.  Eoland  Carew, 
who  had  been  put  into  Auburn's  empty  room  for  the  night, 
tramped  up  and  down  the  terrace  with  his  pipe  in  his 
mouth,  dark,  silent,  brooding.  Caron,  told  off  to  look  after 
him,  lounged  with  his  books  and  his  cigars  in  a  long  chair 
not  far  from  the  study  window,  through  which  now  and 

131 


182  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

then  a  phrase  floating  out  moved  him  to  a  sour  grin. 
Within,  Roden  and  Bernard  were  wrestling  for  possession 
of  Mr.  Carminow  's  soul,  torn  in  twain  between  worldly  and 
unworldly  wisdom.  Meanwhile  Dodo,  lint-white  and  com 
pletely  self-absorbed,  had  gone  to  the  kitchen  to  help  Aline 
get  ready  the  supper,  and  was  deviling  cold  chicken  for 
Roland's  benefit  with  the  placidity  of  a  machine. 

Towards  eight  o'clock  they  were  all  startled  by  a  loud 
ring  at  the  bell.  It  turned  out  to  be  Piers  Comfrey, 
Auburn's  valet,  ridden  over  from  Amesbury  to  ask  what 
was  wrong.  He  would  not  come  in,  and  Roden  went  out 
and  spoke  to  him  at  the  door.  The  man  was  desperately 
agitated:  he  had  been  Auburn's  servant  for  thirteen  years, 
and  had  not  only  read  the  news  in  the  papers,  but  also  seen 
his  master  being  driven  through  Amesbury  High  Street 
under  escort  of  the  police.  He  had  run  after  the  dogcart, 
and  was  able  to  inform  Roden  that  Auburn  had  been  packed 
off  that  same  evening  to  Hillingdon,  alone  with  his  escort 
in  a  reserved  compartment.  Roden  in  exchange  told  all 
that  he  knew,  and  offered  the  faithful  servant  a  night's 
lodging:  but  this  was  declined.  "I  could  not  catch  the 
early  train  to  Hillingdon,  sir,  if  I  stayed  here,"  Piers  re 
plied  simply. 

He  left  before  eight  next  morning,  and  was  followed  a 
couple  of  hours  later  by  a  party  consisting  of  Roland  Carew 
and  Roden  and  Dodo  Carminow.  Mr.  Carminow 's  oppo 
sition,  undermined  by  Roden 's  lucid  common  sense,  gave 
way  altogether  before  Dodo's  white  composure.  He  agreed 
with  Bernard  that  Dodo  ought  to  be  kept  out  of  an  ugly 
business,  and  with  Roden  that  it  was  her  place  to  stand  by 
Auburn  in  trouble :  but  his  decision  was  facilitated  when  he 
found  that  Dodo  took  consent  for  granted,  and  that  he  dared 
not  undeceive  her. 

"Who  will  go  with  you?"  he  asked.  "I  can't,  until  I 
have  a  man  for  Sunday." 

Dodo  answered,  "Roden." 


AN    ORDEAL   OF   HONOR  133 

"And  where  will  you  stay?"  inquired  Mr.  Canninow. 
"You  know  there  is  not  much  money  going,  my  dear." 

"Mr.  Carew  says  he'll  put  us  up  at  Ferndean.  That 
won't  cost  anything  except  railway  fares,  and  tipping  the 
servants. ' ' 

"God  bless  you,  my  darling,"  said  Mr.  Carminow,  kiss 
ing  her.  "Dodo,  my  poor  little  girl,  this  is  hard  for  you." 

Dodo  could  not  answer  for  the  contraction  of  her  throat. 
She  slipped  from  the  room  and  went  upstairs  to  pack  her 
modest  portmanteau,  wondering,  as  she  took  her  skirta 
down  from  their  pegs,  how  long  it  would  be  before  she  hung 
them  up  there  again,  and  what  would  then  be  her  outlook 
upon  life.  She  could  not  talk,  she  could  not  think,  she 
could  not  pray ;  but  when  her  box  was  packed,  and  all  had 
been  said  that  could  be  said  to  Aline  in  the  way  of  direc 
tions,  she  sat  down  to  go  on  with  Bernard's  shirts. 

It  was  a  relief  to  be  out  of  the  humming  gossip  of 
Stanton  Mere,  and  alone  with  men  who  did  not  watch  her. 
Grace  Trevor  saw  her  off,  and  hugged  her  on  the  platform. 
Grace  would  have  given  much  to  come  too.  She  had  asked 
leave,  but  Sir  George  had  peremptorily  forbidden  it,  and 
Grace  was  too  sensible  to  rebel,  knowing  that  in  such  a  case 
the  rebellion  of  the  daughter  is  visited  on  the  head  of  the 
friend.  She  reserved  to  herself  the  right  to  have  her  own 
way  later. 

Dodo  had  not  wished  to  go  to  Ferndean  at  first,  but  had 
given  way  before  the  advantages  of  the  plan;  for  Roland 
was  personally  acquainted  with  the  governor  of  Hillingdon 
Prison,  and  as  guests  of  a  J.P.  they  would  be  sure  of  a 
civility  which  might  or  might  not  be  extended  to  strangers 
lodging  at  an  inn.  Mr.  Carminow  added  that  Mrs.  Carew 
would  be  a  chaperon  for  Dodo,  but  here  Dodo  shook  her 
head :  she  did  not  expect  to  like  Violet,  and  in  fact  took  for 
granted  that  it  was  she  who  had  poisoned  Roland's  thoughts 
of  Auburn.  Dodo  had  not  yet  learned  to  follow  the  work 
ings  of  that  mind,  so  prone  to  believe  evil,  so  eager  to 


184  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

believe  good,  so  womanly  tender  and  withal  puritanically 
stern.  It  was  during  the  long  hours  of  that  interminable 
journey  that  Dodo  first  grew  to  know  Roland  Carew:  not 
by  speech,  for  they  barely  exchanged  a  syllable,  but  by 
patient  study  of  the  dark,  averted  face. 

As  they  came  into  Riversley  station  she  saw  those  dark 
eyes  suddenly  light  up.  With  a  word  of  apology,  he  sprang 
out  before  the  train  stopped  and  went  to  meet  Violet,  who 
came  forward  looking  very  grave  and  yet  very  French  in 
her  grey  skirt  checked  with  heliotrope  and  heliotrope  slip, 
with  a  cluster  of  living  violets  pinned  to  the  lapel  of  her 
coat. 

"So  they've  arrested  him?"  she  said,  taking  Roland's 
hand.  "Weren't  you  in  time?" 

"No:  but  he  wouldn't  have  gone  in  any  case.  Violet,  he 
swears  he's  innocent!" 

An  untranslatable  shade  of  expression  flitted  over 
Violet's  face.  "Does  he?  Do  you  believe  him?" 

Roland  shook  his  head. 

"Oh." 

"  I  've  brought  Miss  Carminow  back,  and  her  brother.  I 
said  we'd  put  them  up." 

"Have  you?    Oh,  I'm  so  glad,"  said  Violet. 

It  was  quite  untrue,  as  Mrs.  Carew 's  remarks  generally 
were  when  she  described  her  own  feelings.  Her  first 
thought  had  been,  "Heavens,  I  shall  have  to  pet  her!" 
But  she  changed  her  opinion  when  Dodo  came  forward 
with  her  pale,  alert  face  and  brilliant  eyes.  Violet  Carew 
was  an  habitual  student  of  character,  silent,  profound, 
decisive:  if  she  had  ever  thought  about  herself  she  must 
have  smiled,  now  and  then,  at  the  boldness  of  her  own  judg 
ments.  She  was  as  sure  of  Dodo  in  that  first  glance  as  she 
had  been,  from  the  first,  of  Auburn. 

A  car  was  waiting,  and  they  were  soon  at  Ferndean.  It 
was  a  roomy,  old-fashioned  house,  the  furniture  dark  with 
age,  the  carpets  worn,  the  pale,  flowered  chintzes  shabby 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  185 

from  much  sunlight.  Dodo  was  given  the  Lilac  Boom, 
which  overlooked  the  sunset  and  the  garden,  and  was  so 
big  that  an  enormous  four-post  bedstead  was  dwarfed  with 
all  its  lilac  hangings  into  insignificance:  she  had  never 
slept  in  such  a  big  room  in  her  life.  She  changed  her  dress 
before  she  went  down  to  dinner,  and  washed  off  the  dust, 
and  coiled  up  her  fair  hair  into  a  classic  knot,  surprised 
to  find  as  she  did  so  that  she  cared  not  a  straw  for  her  own 
appearance,  and  could  not  pretend  to  care,  though  she  rated 
herself  for  what  must,  surely,  be  affectation  ?  But  no ;  the 
greater  part  of  her  thoughts  were  from  home,  and  what 
was  left  was  but  just  light  enough  to  walk  by. 

Afterwards,  looking  back,  Dodo  was  inclined  to  give  the 
palm  for  utter  dreariness  to  that  first  day  after  the  arrest. 
Worse  pain  came  later,  but  never  again  such  weary  blank- 
ness.  After  dinner,  Mr.  Maine,  Auburn's  solicitor,  came 
and  was  closeted  for  an  hour  with  Roland  and  Roden  in  the 
library,  while  Dodo  sat  in  the  drawing-room  with  Mrs. 
Carew,  the  latter  sewing  at  a  drawn-thread  cloth,  her  guest 
buried  in  photograph  albums  as  a  defense  against  having  to 
make  conversation.  Violet  raised  her  eyes  now  and  then  to 
steal  a  quiet  glance  at  Miss  Carminow:  she  would  have 
liked  to  tell  her  to  put  the  books  away  and  go  to  bed,  but 
guessed  that  Dodo  would  dislike  the  implication  of  sym 
pathetic  tact.  Meantime  Dodo  only  longed  to  be  at  home, 
and  to  go  and  peel  potatoes,  or  sweep  out  a  room,  and  so 
quiet  her  mind  by  the  exhaustion  of  her  body :  the  restless 
fatigue  of  her  journey  and  of  a  sleepless  night  contributing 
to  sink  her  spirits  to  zero. 

Maine  went  at  half -past  nine,  and  the  men  came  into  the 
drawing-room,  but  there  was  nothing  to  be  got  out  of  them. 
Roland  went  to  the  piano  and  began  to  play:  Roden,  un- 
concealably  depressed  and  tired,  dropped  into  an  armchair 
and  tried  to  talk  embroidery  with  Violet  with  less  than  his 
usual  ease. 

At  last  it  was  night.    At  ten  o'clock  Roland  read  prayers, 


186  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

an  institution  unknown,  strange  to  say,  at  the  Vicarage,  f  o* 
Mr.  Carminow's  incurably  whimsical  taste  rebelled  at  the 
thought  of  praying  in  an  atmosphere  of  fried  ham :  but  in 
the  long  drawing-room  at  Ferndean  there  was  nothing  to 
offend,  and  Dodo  had  her  first  moment's  ease  in  that  brief 
and  simple  service.  Her  chair  was  near  to  Roden  's,  so  that 
when  they  knelt  she  could  see  his  face  in  profile,  and  she 
was  struck  by  its  expression:  so  calm,  so  spiritual,  so 
remote.  His  was  that  peace  which  the  world  cannot  give. 

A  moment  later  Roland,  with  an  involuntary  vibration 
in  his  deep,  even  voice,  came  upon  the  Litanical  prayer  for 
all  prisoners  and  captives :  and  Dodo  saw  Roden  shrink  and 
wince  with  a  sudden  sharp  spasm,  as  if  in  physical  pain, 
and  hide  his  face  in  his  hands.  The  thought  crossed  her 
mind,  "He  might  well  look  like  that  if  he  had  done  it  him 
self."  The  impression  was  only  transitory,  but  it  was 
strong,  and  recurred  later. 

Some  time  after,  when  Dodo  had  gone  up  to  bed,  Roden 
came  to  her  room.  He  found  her  sitting  by  the  open  win 
dow  in  the  dark,  her  fair  hair  faintly  illuminated  by  the 
Btarshine.  "Is  that  you,  Roddy?  I  thought  you'd  come." 

"What  have  you  got  on?    You'll  catch  cold." 

"I'm  perfectly  warm." 

Roden  crossed  to  her  side  and  stood  looking  ont  into  the 
glimmering  darkness,  over  the  moist  lawns  of  Ferndean 
and  its  groves  of  oak  and  ash.  "Not  much  like  the  Plain, 
is  it? "he  said. 

' '  No.    What  did  Mr.  Maine  say  ?  " 

"The  inquest  is  to  be  to-morrow,  at  the  Crown  Inn  at 
Hillingdon.  He  thinks  there  is  not  much  doubt  that  the 
verdict  will  go  against  Auburn,  but  of  course  that  counts 
for  absolutely  nothing.  After  that  the  case  will  have  to  go 
before  the  magistrates,  and  then  before  the  Grand  Jury, 
either  of  whom  may  throw  it  out:  we  shall  have  got  our 
evidence  together  by  that  time." 

"And  if  they  don't?" 


AN    ORDEAL    OF   HONOR  187 

"It  will  go  to  the  Assizes  in  October." 

"And  that  will  be  final.    Has  he  seen  Charles  yet?" 

"For  half  an  hour,  this  afternoon.  He  is  comfortably 
lodged — carpet,  furniture,  pen  and  ink,  books  and  all  that: 
gets  his  meals  from  the  hotel.  Maine  says  he's  very  cool 
over  it." 

"What  does  Mr.  Maine  think  of  Charles'  own  story?" 

Eoden  fidgeted  under  this  unsparing  cross-examination. 
"He  didn't  say." 

"What  does  Charles  say?  I  don't  really  know  what  his 
version  is,  you  know.  We  were  out  on  the  moors  when  he 
came  back,  and  Grace  and  Car  were  there.  I  haven't  seen 
him  alone  since  before  he  went  to  see  Lesbia. ' ' 

"Well,  he  doesn't  seem  to  have  been  very  communi 
cative."  Try  as  he  would,  Roden  could  not  keep  the  note 
of  depression  out  of  his  voice.  "He  says  he  saw  Sir  Charles 
and  had  a  talk  with  him,  and  was  out  of  the  house  again 
by  eleven:  but  he  doesn't  seem  to  have  gone  to  Lesbia  till 
some  hours  later,  which  is  unlucky.  I  don 't  exactly  under 
stand  what  he  did  with  himself  between  whiles." 

"Does  Mr.  Maine  believe  him  innocent?" 

"Of  course  he  does!" 

"Did  he  say  so?" 

"Not  in  so  many  words.    He — he  implied  it." 

"  Oh ! "  said  Dodo.  She  was  silent  a  moment,  looking  out 
of  the  window. 

"Look,  Roddy.  Do  you  see  that  light  over  there  between 
the  trees,  a  little  lower  down?" 

"Yes.    What  is  it?" 

"Auburn.  They  keep  a  lamp  burning  all  night  in  the 
room  where  Sir  Charles  is  lying." 

"Who  told  you  that,  Dodo?" 

"The  maid  who  brought  up  my  hot  water.  I  asked  her 
if  one  could  see  the  house  from  hers." 

"Horrible!"  said  Roden,  shuddering.  "Why  do  you 
think  of  such  morbid  things?" 


188  AN    ORDEAL    OF   HONOR 

"I  don't  know.  I  should  like  to  see  Sir  Charles,*'  said 
Dodo  slowly.  "I  should  like  to  propitiate  him.  If  I  were 
a  heathen,  I'd  set  up  a  shrine  and  burn  incense  and  offer 
flowers.  Roddy,  this  thing  is  going  wrong :  I  am  sure  of  it. ' ' 

* '  That  is  utter  nonsense,  my  child. ' ' 

"No,  it's  not.  I've  been  thinking  over  all  the  evidence. 
It  is  very  heavy.  I  don't  see  much  chance  of  escape,  unless 
they  find  the  real  murderer. ' ' 

' '  The  real  murderer ! ' ' 

"Why,  he  can't  have  done  it  himself,  you  knowl  If  it 
had  been  a  revolver  shot  or  a  knife-wound — but  nobody  can 
cut  his  own  head  open  with  a  walking  stick.  It  was  not  a 
bruise:  it  was  a  wound.  There  was  blood  on  the  silver 
handle — My  dear  Roden!" 

"You're  cooler  than  I  am,"  said  Roden,  wiping  his  fore 
head.  "Are  you  insensitive  as  you  pretend  to  be?" 

"  I  'm  not  pretending  at  all, ' '  said  Dodo.  * '  What  is  there 
so  very  dreadful  in  what  I  said?  It's  you  who  are  morbid : 
you  always  do  take  things  queerly.  I  don't  know,"  she 
added  a  moment  later:  "I  don't  think  I  do  feel  quite  nat 
ural,  but  I  can't  help  it.  I  would  be  if  I  could.  Is  it 
insensitive  not  to  care  at  all  about  Sir  Charles — not  to  feel 
any  pity  or  regret?  I  can't.  I  feel  as  if  something  evil 
were  out  of  the  way.  Not  quite  out  of  the  way,  either :  I 
shall  be  glad  when  he's  buried." 

"Why?" 

"Oh,  to  be  rid  of  him.  I  feel  as  if  he  were  still  some 
where  near — hovering  round  his  own  body  till  it's  put 
under  the  earth — waiting  to  see  how  things  will  go.  I  was 
thinking,  before  you  came  in,  that  if  that  lamp  is  burning 
by  his  bed  he  must  be  able  to  look  straight  across  to  this 
window.  He  must  have  been  a  man  of  great  power — the 
sort  that  don't  die  easily.  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  he 
came  to  the  window  and  looked  in." 

"I  hope  not,"  said  Roden.  "You  won't  mind  my  run 
ning  away,  if  he  does?" 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  189 

"Not  at  all.  It  would  be  natural  for  you  to  be  frightened, 
because  to  you  he  would  be  just  an  ordinary  ghost. ' ' 

"What  would  he  be  to  you?" 

"I  should  ask  him  whether  he  did  altogether  hate 
Charles,  or  whether  there  was  not  a  grain  or  so  of  disap 
pointed  love  at  the  bottom  of  it." 

"That  is  a  wonderfully  acute  thing  to  say,"  Roden  ob 
served  after  a  pause,  "though  the  form  in  which  you  say 
it  is  desperate  nonsense.  What  makes  you  say  it?" 

"Charles  himself.  He  painted  Sir  Charles  in  such  lurid 
colors.  No  man  could  be  so  bad,  I  think,  as  he  believed  Sir 
Charles  to  be.  I  imagine  Sir  Charles  was  more  of  a  brute — 
more  stupid,  that  is — and  less  of  a  Mephistopheles. " 

"Yet  Auburn's  a  shrewd  judge  of  character." 

"Yes:  but  he's  very  proud." 

' '  That  looks  suspiciously  like  a  non  sequitur :  but  I  don 't 
pretend  to  follow  you." 

"It's  only  a  short  cut,"  said  Dodo,  "down  a  way  you've 
never  been  taken. ' ' 

"You're  confoundedly  fond  of  that  fellow,  Dodo." 

"Yes." 

"I  wish  to  heaven "  said  Roden,  and  broke  off, 

frowning.  He  might  as  well  have  gone  on,  for  Dodo  dotted 
his  i's  for  him. 

"You  wish  I'd  never  seen  him?  Ah!  you  too  think 
things  will  go  badly." 

Roden  was  mute,  regretting  his  slip.  "Don't  pretend," 
said  Dodo  with  a  touch  of  scorn,  "or  rather  don't  try  to 
pretend,  for  you  can't  do  it — not  with  me.  Besides,  I'd 
far  rather  face  it.  If  they  don't  find  the  real  murderer, 
they  will  hang  Charles." 

"They  may  condemn  him:  if  they  do,  we  shall  petition." 

"For  a  reprieve — to  a  life  sentence." 

"Why,  yes,"  said  Roden.  "I  don't  deny  that  it  looks 
black  enough  either  way." 

"Either  a  life  sentence,  or  else — oh,  let  me  say  it  just 


140  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

once,  Roden !  I  may  see  it  less  if  I ' ve  said  it  once — some 
time  this  autumn,  a  group  in  the  jail  yard,  the  gallows,  the 
chaplain,  three  or  four  warders,  the  jail  governor,  and 
Charles  in  the  middle  with  a  cord  round  his  neck:  then 
some  one  pulls  a  bolt,  the  trapdoor  falls,  and  you  hang 
there  for  two  or  three  minutes  before  the  struggling 
ceases.  .  .  .  And  that  is  real :  it  isn  't  morbid  imagination : 
it  may  actually  happen.  And  I  shall  read  the  notice  of  it 
in  the  newspapers,  and  live  on,  and  on,  and  on  .  .  ." 

She  turned  and  looked  out  into  the  night.  Roden  leaned 
against  the  window-frame  with  his  eyes  shut  and  his  hands 
in  his  pockets.  He  could  better  have  coped  with  the  wildest 
passion  than  with  this  intensely  quiet  realism.  He,  too,  had 
a  keen  imagination,  but  it  had  long  been  his  way  to  curb  it, 
to  look  past  spectres  towards  heaven — not,  as  Dodo  dared, 
to  look  them  in  the  face  and  look  them  down. 

"You  think  too  much  of  life  and  death,  Dodo." 

She  raised  her  head,  but  did  not  reply. 

"Death  is  not  what  you  think.  You  speak  as  if  it  were 
an  end,  but  it's  only  a  beginning.  What  does  it  signify 
what  door  you  go  by,  to  leave  earth  for  heaven  ? ' ' 

After  that  they  were  long  silent,  Roden  incapable  of 
another  word:  he  had  summarized  his  creed  for  Dodo's 
benefit,  but  could  not  expatiate  upon  it.  At  last  Dodo 
turned  from  the  darkness  towards  him;  she  put  her  arm 
round  his  neck  and  pulled  him  down  for  a  kiss. 

"Dear  Roddy,"  she  said,  "oh,  you  are  good!  Go  away, 
go  to  bed :  I'm  going  to  bed  myself.  You've  done  me  heaps 
of  good.  I  have  been  feeling  so  queer  all  day:  it  has  all 
been  one  deadly  dream.  One's  nerves  do  play  one  tricks. 
Nothing  ever  could  be  so  bad  as  what  I've  been  seeing 
to-day."  She  shivered,  and  drew  down  the  blind.  "Dear 
darling!  and  then  you  hear  girls  say  they  can't  get  on  with 
their  brothers.  I  don't  know,  though:  on  second  thoughts, 
there's  Bernard.  "What  have  I  got  my  hair  loose  for?" 
She  seized  it,  and  in  a  moment  had  plaited  it  up  into  her 


AN   ORDEAL   OF   HONOR  141 

usual  pigtails.  "Go  to  bed,  old  boy:  you  look  as  white  as 
anything!" 

"Your  conversation,  my  child,  is  not  of  that  soothing 
character " 

"It  has  soothed  me,  anyhow,  which  is  the  main  point. 
I  should  hope  you  would  rather  I  was  soothed  than  you 
were?" 

She  lit  a  candle,  and  by  its  flames  Roden  saw  that  it  was 
the  old  Dodo  who  confronted  him,  able  to  put  a  good  face 
on  her  troubles  and  even  to  jest  over  them.  He  himself 
was  not  the  old  Roden:  but  Dodo,  keen  as  her  eyes  were, 
did  not  distinguish  that  change. 

"Good-night,  dear  darling,"  she  said,  "bless  you  for  an 
angel !  Let  us  all  devote  our  energies  henceforward  to  find 
ing  out  the  man  who  really  did  do  it." 

"By  all  means,"  said  Roden.  "I'm  with  you,  heart  and 
soul.  He  deserves  no  sympathy  if  he  can  stand  by  and  see 
an  innocent  man  suffer  when  a  word  might  save  him." 


XV. 

THE  Assize  Court  at  Hillingdon  stood  on  the  rise  of  a 
hill  at  the  end  of  the  town :  a  large,  square,  modem 
edifice,  fronted  with  the  pillars  and  architrave  of  a  Grecian 
temple,  but  tailing  off  at  the  back  into  an  anomalous  col 
lection  of  out-buildings.  Between  the  great  iron  gates  a 
flight  of  steps  led  into  a  square  hall  guarded  by  police, 
whence  doors  opened  into  different  courts;  and  in  one  of 
these — that  reserved  for  Grand  Jury  cases — was  proceed 
ing,  on  a  hot  evening  early  in  October,  the  last  scene  of  the 
Auburn  trial. 

The  Court  was  a  large,  light,  cheerful  room  with  a  glass 
roof  and  cream-colored  walls,  the  floor  cut  up  into  oddly- 
shaped  compartments  not  unlike  old-fashioned  square  pews, 
the  back  occupied  by  rows  upon  rows  of  hard,  narrow 
forms  one  above  another.  Galleries  and  benches  alike  being 
packed  with  a  dense  mass  of  spectators,  and  every  window 
shut  to  suit  a  whim  of  the  judge,  the  atmosphere  was  like 
that  of  the  pit. 

The  judge  was  Mr.  Justice  Dymock.  He  sat  facing  the 
spectators  in  a  large  leather  armchair  on  a  raised  platform 
surmounted  by  the  royal  arms.  On  his  right  sat  the  High 
Sheriff,  a  tall,  good-looking  personage  in  scarlet  and  gold : 
on  his  left,  the  black  figure  of  the  chaplain:  and,  beyond 
these,  various  dignitaries  of  the  neighborhood :  while  in  the 
well  of  the  Court  immediately  below  sat  the  Clerk  of  Assize, 
small  and  uneasy-looking,  who  divided  his  attention  be 
tween  his  papers  and  his  wig.  It  did  not  fit,  and  he  was 
constrained  more  than  once  to  take  it  off  and  put  it  on  again. 

On  the  right,  the  witness-box,  now  empty :  on  the  left  the 

148 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  143 

jury,  a  curious  mixture  of  types  and  classes,  respectable 
tradesmen  from  Hillingdon  rubbing  shoulders  with  Colonel 
Playfair  of  the  Grange,  or  Mr.  Farquhar,  ex-M.P.  for 
North  Hants.  Intellectual,  cunning,  stupid:  conscientious, 
cowardly,  frivolous:  sympathetic,  vindictive,  bored, — they 
represented  every  phase  of  emotion,  and  it  was  hard  to  say 
which  class  of  qualities  predominated. 

Thanks  to  Roland  Carew  's  position,  a  bench  was  reserved 
in  the  front  row  of  spectators  for  the  friends  of  the  accused : 
Mrs.  Carew  and  Miss  Carminow  together,  Roden  beyond 
Dodo,  Roland  between  his  wife  and  the  prisoner.  They  had 
figured  on  the  front  page  of  the  Daily  Illustrated,  those 
four,  in  a  sketch  of  "The  Assize  Court  at  Hillingdon," 
fringed  with  a  string  of  hurried  profiles — Violet  a  blur, 
Roland  scowling,  Roden  inane  to  a  degree,  Dodo  as  deli 
cately  sweet  as  the  medium  permitted:  and,  "it  certainly 
can  do  no  harm,"  said  old  Maine,  as  he  held  the  print  to  his 
nose. 

Jimmy  Maine  was  an  old  fox,  the  last  of  three  generations 
of  lawyers,  who  had  acted  as  legal  advisers  to  as  many 
heads  of  the  house  of  Auburn.  Business  apart,  he  had  a 
personal  liking  for  his  present  client,  and  was  inwardly 
cursing  Auburn's  stiff-necked  folly.  By  hook  or  by  crook 
Jimmy  Maine  had  intended  to  get  Dodo  into  the  witness- 
box,  but  a  word  let  fall  chanceably  before  Auburn  had 
spoiled  the  plan,  bringing  down  upoa.  him  commands  point- 
blank  that  Dodo  should  not  be  dragged  into  the  mire.  So, 
Dodo  sat  with  the  audience,  and  Jimmy  Maine  in  the  stifling 
well  of  the  Court  wiped  his  bald  head  with  a  green  silk 
handkerchief  and  grumbled  in  undertones:  for  the  trial 
was  all  but  over,  and  he  had  a  grave  doubt  which  way  it 
would  go. 

So  far,  it  had  all  gone  exactly  as  he  had  expected.  There 
had  been  no  surprises,  and  few  dramatic  moments.  It  was 
all  stale,  a  twice-told  tale — a  mere  repetition  of  what  had 
been  said  at  the  inquest  and  again  before  the  magistrates. 


144  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

The  police  had  deposed  to  the  finding  of  the  body  of  Sir 
Charles  with  the  blood-stained  stick  lying  hard  by:  the 
medical  evidence  had  fixed  the  time  of  death  within  an  hour 
or  so.  No,  it  could  not  have  been  suicide,  said  Dr.  Upton : 
the  nature  of  the  wound  absolutely  precluded  the  idea.  The 
deceased  had  been  struck  on  the  temple  and  probably  killed 
on  the  spot.  The  weapon  produced  was  exactly  what  might 
have  been  expected  to  cause  such  a  wound.  Then  came  the 
testimony  of  the  lad  at  the  station,  who  identified  Auburn 
as  the  passenger  of  the  previous  evening,  and  the  cane  as 
the  one  he  had  picked  up. 

Next  came  Davis,  a  horribly  damaging  witness — the 
more  so  for  his  obvious  reluctance,  which  had  produced  one 
of  the  liveliest  moments  of  the  inquest,  when  the  prisoner, 
in  defiance  of  decorum,  blazed  out  into  an  indignant,  "Will 
you  tell  the  truth,  you  old  scamp?"  Thus  adjured,  Davis 
had  told  the  truth,  and  a  pretty  tale  it  was  for  the  prisoner ! 
He  knew  nothing  and  never  would  have  known  anything  of 
Auburn's  presence  on  the  night  of  the  murder,  had  it  not 
been  for  the  ill-starred  visit  of  Koland  and  Roden:  but 
scarcely  were  they  gone  when  it  occurred  to  him  that 
Auburn  might  have  repaired  straight  to  the  window,  and  he 
crept  to  the  dining-room  door  to  listen.  Bit  by  bit  they 
dragged  from  him  what  he  had  overheard — the  low  voices, 
the  coldly  civil  tones,  the  lash  of  Auburn's  irony,  the 
bludgeon-coarse  humor  of  Sir  Charles: 

"You're  not  much  like  me,  my  boy." 

"I'm  sorry  to  hear  it." 

"Gad,  if  your  mother  had  been  a  prettier  woman,  I 
should  have  thought.  ..." 

Through  the  mask  of  Hampshire  idiom  the  dead  voice 
emerged  with  a  plainness  which  produced  a  murmur 
scarcely  to  be  quelled  by  the  usher's  iterated  mechanical 
cry  of  "Silence!"  Those  were  the  last  words  caught  by 
Davis,  for  Hayter  the  second  footman  (Sir  Charles  lived  in 
style)  had  come  upon  him  unexpectedly,  forcing  him  for 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  145 

shame  to  quit  his  station;  and  Hayter  was  called  to  cor 
roborate  the  tale,  and  to  testify  that  he  had  found  Davis 
"a-shaking  all  hover,  with  'is  ear  glued  to  the  keyhole." 

Then  came  Lesbia,  a  noble  figure  with  burning  eyes,  in 
her  decent  black  dress  and  smoothly  braided  hair.  Lesbia 
in  a  mute,  storm-driven  fury,  aweing  the  court  with  her 
grand  gestures  and  strange  tongue.  Yes,  Mr.  Charles  had 
come  to  her  that  night.  Yes,  she  had  taken  him  in  and  he 
had  slept  under  her  roof.  (Nothing  would  induce  her  to 
speak  of  him  by  any  other  name.)  Agitated?  No;  calm 
enough;  and  wet  through,  "but  not  with  blood,"  said  Lesbia 
in  her  strange  vibrant  voice:  "  'twas  nothing  worse  than 
God's  own  dew,  where  he'd  been  out  in  the  fog."  No,  he 
had  not  talked  much  with  her :  he  had  told  her  that  he  came 
from  Sir  Charles,  and  that  they  quarrelled — inflexibly 
truthful  and  sworn  to  tell  the  whole  truth,  Lesbia  made  this 
avowal  as  one  at  the  stake — but  he  was  calm  enough:  no 
sign  of  painful  dread:  "he  slept  like  a  babe,"  said  Lesbia, 
making  the  judge  smile  in  spite  of  himself:  "I  kissed  him 
in  his  sleep."  Pressed  to  account  for  Auburn's  action  next 
day  in  walking  five  miles  to  return,  at  the  price  of  his  ticket, 
by  a  different  line,  she  scored  a  point  for  the  defense.  Did 
they  think  Mr.  Charles  would  value  ten  shillings  or  five 
miles  above  her  convenience  ?  He  had  enjoined  no  secrecy 
upon  her:  he  had  gone  off  waving  his  hand,  said  Lesbia, 
"bonny  and  cool — a  rare  figure  of  a  murderer."  No,  she 
had  not  in  so  many  words  asked  him  to  go,  but  she  had  as 
good  as  asked  him — she  had  let  him  know  that  she  was 
going,  and  that  she  could  ill  arrange  for  it,  "and  do  you 
think,"  said  angry  Lesbia,  "any  woman  would  have  to  ask 
him  plainer  than  that?"  And  so,  bearing  herself  in  hand, 
she  left  the  box  to  make  way  for  an  agitated  Hillingdon 
chemist,  who  proved  that  Auburn  had  actually  applied  to 
him  before  eight  o'clock  to  get  the  tabloids  made  up  in  time 
to  catch  the  local  post. 

Last  of  all  had  came  the  examination  and  cross-exam- 


146  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

ination  of  the  prisoner,  when  Auburn,  calm  to  a  fault,  gave 
his  version  of  the  doings  of  that  strange  midsummer  night. 
Bastow,  K.C.,  had  characterized  that  version  as  extraordi 
nary:  and  so  it  was,  in  its  cold  frankness.  Jimmy  Maine 
was  inured  to  dramatic  effects,  but  even  he  had  been  startled 
by  what  struck  him  at  first  as  an  affected  and  unseemly 
piece  of  cynicism. 

"Did  you  come  to  words  with  Sir  Charles?" 

"Yes,  we  had  a  row." 

"Oh,  you  had  a  row!    Upon  what  subject?" 

"I  decline  to  say." 

"You  have  heard  the  evidence  of  the  witness  Davis.  I 
put  it  to  you  that  Sir  Charles  used  insulting  language  with 
regard  to  his  late  wife  ? ' ' 

"That  is  quite  true." 

"Sir  Charles  insulted  your  mother,  and  you  quarrelled 
with  him.  Had  you  your  stick  in  your  hand  at  the  time  ? ' ' 

"No,  I  had  thrown  it  down  on  the  table." 

"It  was  within  reach,  however?" 

"Oh  yes." 

""When  Sir  Charles  insulted  your  mother,  what  did 
you  do?" 

"I  left  the  house." 

"By  the  same  way  as  you  had  come  in?" 

"Practically  the  same.  I  had  closed  the  window  behind 
me :  the  hasp  caught,  and  I  smashed  the  glass  to  get  away." 

"You  could  not  stay  to  turn  the  handle?" 

"No,  I  was  too  keen  to  be  out  of  it." 

"Nor  to  pick  up  your  hat  and  stick?" 

Auburn  shrugged  his  shoulders.    "I  forgot  them." 

"You  must  have  been  in  a  very  extraordinary  frame  of 
mind.  "Why  were  you  in  such  a  hurry  ? ' ' 

"Because  I  could  not  have  kept  my  hands  off  Sir  Charles 
ten  seconds  longer." 

Such  words  could  not  fail  to  produce  a  sensation,  and 
some  moments  passed  ere  quiet  was  restored.  But  Jimmy 


AN    ORDEAL    OP    HONOR  147 

Maine,  catching  the  eye  of  the  jndge,  would  have  giv«n 
much  to  know  what  old  Dymock  made  of  them. 

At  present  the  attention  of  the  Court  was  fixed  upon  the 
learned  and  eloquent  counsel  for  the  defense.  He  was  worth 
watching,  indeed:  a  big  handsome  man,  with  a  shrewd 
dark  eye  and  a  tongue  of  silver.  He  laid  stress  upon  the 
improbability  of  the  case:  a  young  man  of  the  prisoner's 
class  would  not  strike  an  old  man,  least  of  all  one  whom  by 
every  tie  of  blood  and  decency  he  was  bound  to  respect.  A 
quarrel  might  easily  come  about,  but  not  a  cowardly  blow. 
His  learned  brother  had  characterized  the  prisoner's  de 
fense  as  extraordinary.  He  quite  agreed  with  him.  It  was 
extraordinarily  frank  and  straightforward.  The  prisoner 
had  not  tried  to  suppress  what  might  be  thought  likely  to 
tell  against  him.  Mr.  Riccardo  would  remind  the  jury  that 
for  the  details  of  the  quarrel  they  were,  in  the  fragmentary 
state  of  the  evidence  of  the  butler  Davis,  chiefly  indebted  to 
the  prisoner  himself.  Did  such  frankness  look  like  guilt? 
Did  it  not  rather  suggest  conscious  innocence,  which  has  no 
fear  of  the  truth?  They  had  heard  the  testimony  of  Mrs. 
Burnet.  "Was  it  credible  that  a  man  fresh  from  a  brutal 
murder  should  be  able  to  sleep  like  a  child  ? 

Again,  the  evidence  was  purely  circumstantial.  There 
was  no  direct  proof  whatever :  nothing  but  a  tissue  of  sur 
mises.  The  utmost  that  could  be  proved  against  the  pris 
oner  was  that  he  might  have  committed  the  crime:  but  it 
had  by  no  means  been  proved  impossible  that  some  unknown 
enemy  of  Sir  Charles,  who,  it  could  not  be  doubted,  had 

made  such  enemies "  (herb  he  was  pulled  up  smartly 

by  his  learned  brother,  the  judge  confirming  the  objection : 
nevertheless,  the  hint  had  been  got  in,  and  was  sure  to  tell 
with  the  jury) — "supposing,  then,  that  Sir  Charles  had 
what  men  of  the  most  scrupulous  honor  and  unstained 
probity"  (laughter)  "were  sometimes  known  to  have — a 
personal  enemy — why  should  not  such  a  man  have  found 
his  way  in  by  the  broken  window  and  struck  the  fatal 


148  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

blow?  He  need  not  remind  the  gentlemen  of  the  jury 
that  the  onus  of  proof  lay  on  the  prosecution :  and  so  long 
as  a  shadow  of  uncertainty  existed  the  prisoner  was 
entitled.  ..." 

'  *  Oh,  I  wish  he  M  have  done ! ' '  Dodo  whispered  in  Roden  's 
ear.  "It's  cruelly  trying  for  Charles." 

Auburn  stood  erect,  fronting  the  judge,  the  sunlight 
striking  down  on  his  chestnut  head.  He  had  flatly  refused 
to  wear  mourning  for  political  reasons,  and  was  dressed  in 
grey.  Placed  between  two  warders,  both  tall  and  powerful 
men,  he  overtopped  them  both  by  an  inch  or  so.  His  clear, 
brown  skin,  was  a  trifle  the  paler  for  his  weeks  in  prison, 
but  not  much ;  sunburn  ingrained  in  fifteen  years  of  wan 
dering  does  not  wear  off  in  a  couple  of  months.  It  had  been 
a  sickening  surprise  to  him  when  he  recognized,  in  the  gal 
leries,  face  after  face  that  he  had  known  in  town :  men  to 
whom  he  had  played  guest  or  host,  women  who  had  rarely 
been  too  deeply  engaged  to  spare  him  a  dance.  He  was  cool 
enough,  however,  to  deceive  even  Dodo.  Had  he  betrayed 
a  tithe  of  the  shame  and  confusion  which  seized  him — shy 
Englishman  that  he  was  at  heart — when  he  first  walked  into 
that  crowded  Court,  he  would  have  quelled  her  courage 
altogether.  But  Auburn  carried  off  the  dishonors  of  the 
situation  with  grace. 

At  length  the  great  Riccardo  sat  down,  having  earned  his 
heavy  fee  by  an  address  both  emotional  and  reasonable, 
which  did  him  the  more  credit  because  he  was  convinced  of 
the  prisoner's  guilt:  and  after  his  strong  and  silver  accents 
rose  the  harsh  elderly  tones  of  the  judge.  Even  Dodo,  tired 
to  apathy,  listened  now:  for  this,  she  knew,  would  go  far 
to  decide  the  verdict. 

Knowledge  of  the  law:  insight  into  human  nature: 
shrewd  common  sense,  that  delighted  to  strike  through  legal 
quibbles  and  tear  down  the  cobwebs  of  sophistication  spun 
by  partial  pleaders — these  were  the  elements  of  Mr.  Justice 
Dymock's  summing  up.  His  rigor  was  tempered  with 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  149 

mercy — he  would  strain  a  point,  if  need  were,  for  the  pris 
oner  rather  than  against  him:  but  if  it  were  possible  he 
would  strain  no  point — the  facts  must  speak  for  themselves. 
If  the  jury  believed  the  prisoner's  statement,  and  were  pre 
pared  to  accept  the  theory  of  the  defense  that  some  person 
or  persons  unknown  had  entered  the  room  after  the  prisoner 
left  it,  then  they  must  find  accordingly :  but  it  was  his  duty 
to  point  out  to  them  that  there  was  no  shadow  of  proof  of 
this  theory:  rather,  the  weight  of  evidence  was  against  it. 
What  could  have  been  the  motive?  Not  robbery,  for  the 
silver  plate  on  the  table,  the  rings  on  the  dead  man's  fingers, 
were  left  untouched.  If  revenge  was  the  object,  it  was  hard 
to  believe  that  the  avenger  would  have  come  unprovided 
with  a  weapon.  But  if  they  were  not  able  to  accept  this 
theory,  and  found  themselves  forced  to  believe  that  put 
forward  by  the  prosecution,  then,  again,  it  was  their  duty 
to  find  the  prisoner  guilty,  without  allowing  themselves  to 
be  influenced  by  any  considerations  which  affected,  not  the 
facts,  but  what  he  might  call  the  sentiment  of  the  case. 

Auburn  drew  a  long  breath  and  straightened  his 
shoulders :  it  would  soon  be  over  now !  Tired  of  his  cramped 
attitude — for  he  had  been  on  his  feet  the  greater  part  of  the 
day — he  dropped  into  the  chair  that  had  been  set  for  him 
and  crossed  his  knees.  A  buzz  of  talk  sprang  up  all  over 
the  Court.  The  judge  consulted  his  notes,  and  chatted  in 
an  undertone  with  the  sheriff.  Roden  looked  furtively  at 
Dodo,  and  Violet  Carew  wondered  whether  any  power  on 
earth  would  induce  her  husband  to  go  out  for  five  minutes 
and  get  a  glass  of  wine  and  a  biscuit. 

A  stir  in  the  jury  created  a  momentary  tension,  but 
proved  to  be  a  false  alarm.  Uncertain  on  a  point  of  law, 
they  desired  to  be  enlightened  by  the  judge.  Their  diffi 
culty  was  elucidated  in  a  dozen  wise,  simple  sentences,  and 
the  twelve  heads — young  and  old,  rich  and  poor,  aristocrat 
and  shopkeeper — were  bowed  together  again  over  their 
verdict. 


150  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

"I  wish  they  would  take  Charles  out,"  murmured  Dodo. 
"It's  awfully  trying  for  him." 

' '  I  wish  they  would  open  a  window, ' '  said  Roden.  ' '  This 
place  is  deadly  hot." 

He  put  his  hand  to  his  forehead  as  he  spoke,  and  Dodo 
gave  him  a  moment 's  cursory  observation.  ' '  Poor  Roddy ! ' ' 
she  said  with  a  touch  of  compunction,  "and  you  feel  the 
heat  so  much.  You  look  very  seedy,  old  boy. ' ' 

"I  don't  know  that  we  any  of  us  look  particularly  bloom 
ing,"  said  Roden.  "Auburn's  the  coolest  of  the  lot." 

"H'm,"  said  Dodo,  with  an  odd,  meditative  look.  She 
was  spared  the  need  of  an  answer  by  Violet,  who  leaned 
past  her  to  whisper  to  Roden,  ' '  Do,  please,  watch  my  hus 
band:  I'm  nervous  about  him."  Roland  sat  erect,  impas 
sive,  sickly-white,  his  hands  clenched  on  his  knee :  he  looked 
ten  years  older  for  the  last  few  weeks.  But  Roden  gave  him 
a  pity  as  superficial  as  he  had  himself  received  from  his 
sister. 

"Those  people,  how  they  laugh!"  said  Dodo,  shuddering, 
as  a  titter  went  round  the  crowded  benches  behind  them. 
"Can  it  be  much  longer,  Roddy?" 

"No,  dear." 

"I  thought  the  jury  would  leave  the  room  to  deliberate." 

"Apparently  they  don't  want  to." 

"If— if  it  goes  wrong— Oh,  Roddy!  What's  the 
matter  ? ' ' 

"Here  it  is,  anyhow,"  said  Roden,  with  lips  so  clenched 
that  he  could  hardly  speak.  "Steady,  Dodo!  steady,  for 
Auburn's  sake!" 

There  was  again  a  stir  among  the  jury:  not  a  point  of 
law  this  time,  but  the  end  of  the  play.  Auburn  rose  to  his 
feet,  still  cool  to  the  brink  of  hardihood.  Roden  seized 
Dodo's  hand  and  crushed  it,  as  the  sheriff  sat  down  and  the 
judge  picked  up  his  spectacles. 

' c  Gentlemen  of  the  jury,  do  you  find  the  prisoner  at  the 
bar  guilty  or  not  guilty?" 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  151 

" Guilty,  my  lord." 

Boden  passed  his  arm  round  Dodo.  It  was  not  neces- 
Bary.  Tense  as  steel,  no  color  in  her  face  except  the  vivid 
blue  of  her  eyes,  she  was  lifted  out  of  all  weakness. 

The  judge  turned  to  Auburn.  "Have  you  anything  to 
say,  prisoner?" 

"No,"  said  Auburn  mechanically:  and,  as  he  spoke, 
raised  his  head  and  looked  keenly,  with  an  altered  purpose, 
into  the  face  of  the  man  who  was  about  to  condemn  him. 
For  the  low  tones  betrayed  emotion :  the  judge  was  only  a 
man  after  all,  with  a  man's  heart  to  feel  compassion,  and 
uncertainty,  and  the  dread  cross  of  responsibility.  "On 
second  thoughts,  there  is  something  I  should  like  to  say. 
May  I  say  it?" 

"This  is  not  the  time  to  reopen  any  question  of  fact " 

"I  am  not  going  to,  my  lord.  All  I  want  is  to  thank 
those  who  have  taken  part  in  this  trial  for  the  frank  and 
fair  hearing  they  have  given  me.  Yourself,  my  lord,  it 
would  be  an  impertinence  to  thank  for  absolute  impar 
tiality:  but  I  should  like  to  acknowledge  my  sense  of  the 
extreme  fairness,  and  even  generosity,  with  which  I  have 
been  treated  by  the  counsel  for  the  prosecution.  I  own," 
continued  Auburn,  shaking  back  his  head  with  a  quick 
movement,  touched  with  a  kind  of  whimsical  humor,  "if  I 
had  had  the  trying  of  this  case,  I  should  have  brought  my 
self  in  guilty.  No  one  could  stand  against  such  a  weight 
of  evidence.  Chance — I  accuse  no  one — chance  has  been 
too  strong  for  me.  But,  since  I'm  innocent,  it  seems — to 
me,  be  it  understood — probable  that  my  innocence  may 
some  day  come  to  light :  and  when  that  day  does  come  you 
may  like  to  remember,  gentlemen,  that  I  bore  not  the 
shadow  of  a  grudge  against  any  one  of  you." 

Dymock  listened  unmoved:  not  a  flicker  of  expression 
passed  over  the  grim,  wise  face,  over  the  eyes  that  never 
for  one  moment  quitted  the  eyes  of  the  prisoner.  Low  and 
stern  came  the  answer  of  the  judge. 


152  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

"Charles  Auburn,  you  are  about  to  stand  in  the  presence 
of  your  Maker,  and  no  words  of  mine  can  make  your  situ 
ation  more  terrible  than  your  own  conscience  must  perceive 
it  to  be.  You  are  an  educated  man :  there  is  no  need  that  I 
should  enlarge  upon  the  grievous  nature  of  your  crime. 
You  say  you  forgive  those  who  have  sent  you  to  your  death. 
You  yourself  stand  in  need  of  forgiveness.  Use  what  time 
remains  to  you  in  imploring  the  mercy  of  a  Judge  who 
knows  the  secrets  of  all  hearts." 

They  gave  him  the  black  cap,  and  he  set  it  on  his  head. 
Auburn  moved  a  step  forward,  so  that  he  stood  alone,  clear 
of  the  warders.  With  a  mind  clear  and  composed,  and  able 
to  grasp  every  word,  he  followed  that  dread  sentence  to  the 
end. 

".  .  .  .  And  that  you  be  taken  to  the  place  whence  you 
came  and  thence  to  a  place  of  execution  and  there  be  hanged 
by  the  neck  till  you  be  dead :  and  may  the  Lord  have  mercy 
on  your  soul." 

"Amen,"  said  the  chaplain  in  a  shaken  voice:  and 
"Amen,"  said  Auburn  himself,  and  added  under  his 
breath,  "So,  it's  over." 

An  officer  touched  his  arm  with  a  sharp,  "This  way, 
please."  His  tone  had  a  new  touch  of  authority,  as  of  law 
dealing  with  the  criminal;  a  touch  of  awe  also,  as  befits 
man  dealing  with  his  fellow-man  so  soon  to  take  leave  of  the 
world.  In  five  minutes'  time  the  next  case  was  to  be  tried. 
The  second  warder  unlocked  the  door  of  the  dock  and 
stepped  down  from  it.  Auburn  turned  to  follow — swung 
round — and  for  the  first  time  since  the  trial  began  bent  his 
aching  eyes  on  the  faces  dearest  to  him  in  the  fast-departing 
world.  He  saw  Violet  touch  Roden's  sleeve,  and  Roden, 
himself  white  and  drawn  and  old  in  suffering,  make  a  swift 
movement  to  seize  Roland  Carew  by  the  arm ;  and  he  saw 
Roland,  without  a  cry,  drop  down  before  Roden  could  save 
him,  in  a  dead  faint  on  the  ground.  But  apart  from  all, 
and  nearer  to  him  than  all,  he  saw  Dodo  standing  erect,  her 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  153 

face  set  like  a  white  mask,  but  her  eyes  vividly  blue,  shining 
as  if  they  had  seen  God  with  a  passion  that  outwent  dis 
honor  and  death :  he  saw  her  lips  move,  and  read  the  troth 
he  could  not  hear : 
"Through  this  world  and  beyond  it." 


XVI. 

AFTER  the  trial  Auburn  was  taken  back  to  the  county 
jail,  but  not  to  his  old  quarters.  That  night  the  fine 
weather,  prolonged  beyond  its  usual  limits,  broke  up,  and 
as  he  lay  in  his  cramped  cot,  chafing  under  the  eye  of  the 
warder  on  guard,  he  heard  hour  after  hour  the  crying  of 
wind  and  dash  of  rain  against  the  high,  barred  window  of 
the  condemned  cell. 

Day  came,  desolate  and  stormy,  but  soft,  one  of  those  wild 
grey  days  of  early  autumn  that  set  the  blood  tingling  in 
young  veins.  It  drove  Auburn  to  pacing  up  and  down. 
So  many  a  time,  in  the  years  long  ago,  he  had  flung  out  of 
the  grey  University  town,  alone  or  with  Roland  Carew,  to 
breast  the  rise  of  Madingley  Hill — to  tire  out  in  a  long 
country  tramp  the  body  that  ached  with  excess  of  life.  The 
old  days  haunted  him.  He  shut  his  eyes  and  saw  it  all 
again:  the  wide  Cambridge  champaign,  the  grey  wind 
blowing  between  the  ring  of  far  grey  hills,  the  red  leaves 
drifted  by  the  roadside,  the  smell  of  fog  and  bare  wood 
lands,  and  amid  all  that  himself  and  Roland  Carew,  bare 
headed,  arm  in  arm,  waking  the  quiet  road  with  their  high 
boyish  voices  and  laughter. 

The  entrance  of  a  second  warder  and  a  summons  to  quit 
his  cell  recalled  him  to  present  circumstances.  Expecting 
an  interview  with  the  governor  or  the  chaplain,  he  silently 
followed  his  escort  to  the  visitors'  room,  to  be  met  by  Roland 
himself.  " Hullo!"  said  Auburn.  "I  was  just  thinking  of 
you.  Do  you  remember  the  Madingley  road  ? ' ' 

"The  Madingley  road?" 

"The  road  up  Madingley  Hill,  with  the  old  windmill  on 

154 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  155 

top  looking  like  a  moth  that  had  been  through  a  candle,  and 
the  short  out  down  through  the  woods  to  the  village,  and 
the  inn  where  they  gave  you  buttered  toast  and  beer.  Oh ! 
spare  me  that  funereal  face,  Roland.  What's  the  good 
of  it?" 

"Auburn!  for  heaven's  sake " 

"I  know,  I  know,"  Auburn  struck  in,  "  *for  heaven's 
sake  be  serious,  Auburn!'  All  right,  I'll  be  serious — I'll 
be  anything  you  like!  Say  the  word — what  shall  it  be? 
Pious  resignation?  I  haven't  a  grain  of  piety  in  me  and 
don't  feel  resigned;  but  if  you  would  like  us  to  say  the 
Lord's  Prayer  together  I  don't  mind  going  down  on  my 
knees." 

"Auburn,  do  remember " 

' '  Binns  ?  Binns  is  deaf :  aren  't  you,  Binns  ?  Besides,  he 's 
quite  amiable.  What  the  devil  have  you  been  doing  with 
yourself — fasting  in  sackcloth  and  ashes  ?  Come,  bear  up : 
don't  be  so  hypersensitive!  It's  a  quick  death,  after  all." 

"A  reprieve "  faltered  Roland,  the  words  barely 

intelligible. 

"Rot!  You'll  never  do  it.  The  judge  has  the  casting 
vote,  I  know  that  much,  and  you'll  get  precious  little  change 
out  of  old  Dymock.  Where's  the  good  of  building  castles 
in  Spain  ? ' ' 

"Of  course  we  shall  petition " 

"Do  by  all  means  if  it  amuses  you,  but  if  I  were  Home 
Secretary  you  might  whistle  for  a  reprieve.  Rank  senti- 
mentalism  of  the  most  vulgar  type,  that's  what  it  will  be: 
shopgirls  and  actors  and  dissenting  parsons  signing  in  their 
millions  because  I'm  passably  good-looking  and  have  a 
handle  to  my  name.  Old  Hardyng  will  put  it  behind  the 
fire — your  petition." 

"God  help  us  all!"  said  Roland.  He  covered  his  eyes 
with  his  hands :  he  had  forgotten  the  warder 's  presence,  as 
had  Auburn  himself.  "If  you— if  they— if— if " 

"If  I'm  hanged— fire  away." 


156  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

"If  this  awful  thing  does  happen,  it  will  be  the  end  of  all 
things,  for  me.  A  God  who  strikes  with  such  blind  injustice 
is  no  God  at  all — or  a  devil." 

"Yet  your  creed  doesn't  profess  to  be  a  system  of  tem 
poral  rewards  and  punishments." 

"I  can't  stop  my  ears  with  formulae.  Oh,  I'm  wrong,  I 
dare  say;  but,  wrong  or  right,  if  you  die  it  will  all  go  to 
pieces." 

"A  circumstance  which  I  should  exceedingly  regret," 
said  Auburn  with  a  low  laugh.  "Oh,  be  good,  Roland! 
Where's  the  use  of  swearing?  I've  had  a  very  lively  time 
of  it  anyhow :  not  so  long  as  could  be  wished,  but  eminently 
festive.  If  there  is  a  God,  I  cry  quits:  I've  had  a  run  for 
my  money." 

"But  death,"  said  Roland,  throwing  himself  down  on  the 
seat  from  which  Auburn  had  risen:  "but  death!" 

"Death,  eh?  Well,  we've  faced  it  for  fun — can't  you 
face  it  in  earnest?  I  remember  when  you  bagged  your  first 
tiger  you  gave  him  the  coup  de  grace  on  foot  at  close  quar 
ters  out  of  sheer  devilry:  you  were  less  nervous  then." 

"That  was  different:  there  was  no  dishonor  attached 
to  it." 

"And  I  confess,  old  Roland,  I  shall  not  think  myself 
dishonored." 

"Ah,  Auburn!"  said  Roland,  sorrowfully,  "and  yet  you 
mean  to  die  with  a  lie  on  your  lips  ? ' ' 

Auburn  started :  the  unready  color  sprang  to  his  face. 

"True,  I'd  forgotten  that,"  he  said,  after  a  long  and 
noticeable  pause. 

He  perched  himself  on  the  table,  one  hand  in  his  pocket, 
the  other  thrown  round  Roland's  neck.  "Dear  old  fellow, 
I  wish  you  wouldn't  take  it  so  hardly.  What  a  boy  it  is,  for 
all  its  six-and-thirty  years !  I  should  think  never  prisoner 
had  a  more  loyal  pal — loyal  under  difficulties  too,  by  Jove !" 
he  bit  his  lip  to  repress  a  smile.  "But  don't  swear  grace 
overboard,  there 's  a  dear  lad !  Play  a  waiting  game.  Clear 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  157 

out  of  England  as  soon  as  it's  over — I  suppose  I  mustn't  ask 
you  to  go  before — clear  out  and  take  Violet  with  you, 
yachting,  say:  the  sea's  a  tonic.  You'll  soon  learn  to  see 
things  in  a  proper  light.  I'm  not  the  first,  you  know,  and 
I  shan't  be  the  last." 

"I'm  not  so  cold  blooded  as  you  are." 

"No,  you  were  always  sentimental.  But  your  blood  will 
cool,  you'll  find,  in  time:  you'll  be  able  to  reflect  that  after 
all,  since  I  knocked  Sir  Charles  on  the  head,  I  only  got  my 
deserts.  A  man  grows  most  gallantly  philosophical  over  his 
troubles  when  he's  forgotten  what  they  were." 

' '  And  do  you  suppose  I  shall  forget  ? ' ' 

"Suppose?  I  know  it,"  answered  Auburn  with  deep 
scorn.  "In  a  couple  of  years'  time  you'll  be  back  at  Fern- 
dean  giving  garden  parties.  Oh,  you  won't  have  forgotten 
me — Lord,  no!  You'll  say  to  Violet,  'Vi  darling,  I  think 
we'll  put  off  those  people  on  Tuesday:  you  know  it's  the 
anniversary  of  the  day  poor  Auburn  was — was — '  and 
there  you'll  pull  up,  because  you're  congenitally  incapable 
of  saying  hanged " 

' '  Oh,  do  be  quiet,  Auburn !  I  cannot  stand  you  when  you 
get  into  that  tone.  You  know  I  always  hated  it." 

"You  seem  to  hate  most  of  my  ways  and  works  at 
present." 

* '  I  hate  everything, ' '  said  Roland.  He  was  broken  down 
by  want  of  sleep  and  by  the  long  nervous  strain,  and  spoke 
with  the  f retfulness  of  a  child.  Auburn,  still  sitting  with 
his  arm  round  his  comrade's  neck,  touched  the  dark  cheek 
lovingly  and  lightly  with  his  long  brown  fingers. 

"Are  you  and  I  going  to  apologize  to  each  other?  .  .  . 
Come,  there  are  still  a  dozen  things  I  wanted  to  say.  I 
made  my  will  a  few  days  ago  as  a  precautionary  measure, 
and  I've  left  you  a  few  odds  and  ends  that  I  thought  you 
might  care  for:  books,  pictures,  the  contents  of  my  rooms 
in  town,  personal  trifles  that  I  knew  no  one  else  would 
valne."  Roland  eould  not  trust  himself  to  speak.  "My 


168  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 


and  horses,  too— will  you  give  them  a  home?  I 
shouldn't  care  to  have  the  Daisy  sold  to  a  man  who  couldn't 
ride." 

''Yes." 

"The  property  of  course  goes  with  the  title  to  the 
Australian  branch,  and  I  wish  them  joy  of  it!  But  there's 
some  money  of  my  own,  which  came  to  me  through  my 
mother — I  can't  explain  now,  but  I've  given  Maine  full 
instructions ' ' 

"Beg  pardon,  sir,  but  your  time's  just  on  up." 

Roland  started,  and  so  did  Auburn:  the  interruption 
jarred.  "So  soon!"  said  Auburn:  "hang  you,  Binns,  I'd 
forgotten  you  were  there.  I  know  there  were  no  end  of 
things  I  wanted  to  say!" 

"And  I'd  one  thing  to  say  to  you  which  I've  not  said." 

"Say  it  now." 

"Do  you  want  to  see — her?" 

"Whom?— Do  you  mean ?"  Roland  nodded.  "Elle 

le  veut?  Ah  nom,  par  exemple  .  .  .  elle  croit  que  je  le 
veux." 

He  got  up  and  leaned  against  the  wall,  hands  in  pockets, 
head  thrown  back.  Roland  scrutinized  him,  but  could  read 
nothing  in  his  features :  they  might  have  masked  either  iron 
self-mastery,  or  genuine  unconcern.  "What  shall  I  say?" 
asked  Dodo 's  ambassador. 

"No." 

"I  am  to  say  No?" 

"You  are  to  say  No." 

"You  refuse  to  see  her?"  Roland  exclaimed,  amazed  and 
half  indignant.  "But,  my  dear  fellow,  why?" 

"Chut!  ne  parle  pas  d'elle,"  said  Auburn  imperiously. 
"Do  as  I  tell  you — say  No.  Say  I'd  rather  not  change  the 
old  associations  for  the  new :  that  an  interview  would  only 
make  things  harder  for  both  of  us — for  me  especially.  Say 
I  don't  liks  touching  farewells,  and  would  rather  not  see 
any  on«  at  all — not  Roden,  nor  Mr.  Oarmitrow,  nor  you 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  1S9 

again :  that  ought  to  carry  conviction.  Hurt?  No,  I  think 
not :  we're  not  all  so  sensitive  as  you  are.  Say  I  don't  wish 
it,  that  I  shrink  from  the  idea." 

"But  is  that  true?"  asked  Roland.  Auburn  drew  him 
self  up  and  looked  down  at  him,  silently  laughing. 

1 '  True  ?  Of  course  it 's  true !  What  a  brute  you  are  to 
insult  a  helpless  prisoner! — Now  I'm  falling  into  levity 
again,  oh  Lord !  you  and  your  infernal  Puritanical  ways — 
one  would  think  it  was  you  who  were  going  to  be  hanged, 
not  I.  I  hope  they'll  give  me  a  long  enough  drop,  that's 
all;  I  don't  want  ...  I  beg  your  pardon,  Roland,  I  am  an 
ass."  He  had  shocked  himself  as  well  as  Roland:  there 
were  things  even  for  him  that  did  not  bear  putting  into 
words. 

Steps  rang  again  in  the  corridor ;  the  door  was  unlocked 
and  a  warder  appeared  on  the  threshold.  Auburn  held  out 
his  hand  and  Roland  took  it  in  a  nerveless  grasp.  Firm  and 
close  was  Auburn's  pressure. 

"Good-bye,  old  Roland,"  he  said,  "the  best  friend  that 
ever  bore  a  cranky  temper.  Sans  rancune,  eh? — in  case  I 
don't  see  you  again." 

"Shall  I  give  any  message  from  you?"  asked  Roland, 
resolved  to  get  out  of  the  cell  with  credit,  but  hardly  know 
ing  how  to  bear  himself  under  the  bitter  strain. 

Auburn  wrenched  his  hand  away  and  stepped  back. 
"No:  I've  no  messages  to  send." 


T 


XVII. 

HIS  morning  they  came  to  tell  me  the  time 
fixed  for  the  execution,  which  is  to  take  place 
on  Tuesday  next  at  eight  a.  m.  A  painful  interview !  The 
chaplain  was  reduced  to  tears,  poor  little  chap.  Pity  they 
don't  put  stronger  men  into  .the  Church:  she  must  lose 
many  through  the  ineptitude  of  her  ministers.  Little 
Phillips  is  a  dear,  good  fellow — he  comes  and  prays  over 
me  daily  and  exhorts  me  to  repent.  The  fact  that  I  don't 
believe  in  heaven,  or  hell,  or  God,  or  angel,  or  demon  seems 
to  be  beyond  the  grasp  of  his  queer  little  rudimentary 
brain.  He  thinks  it  a  part  of  the  indecency  of  my  general 
attitude. 

"If  I  hadn't  still  some  lingering  sense  of  the  absurd,  I 
swear  I  'd  make  an  edifying  end  just  to  comfort  him.  It  '11 
put  him  out  grievously  if  I  die  neither  penitent  nor 
blaspheming.  That  an  Atheist — he  says  it  with  a  large  A — 
should  be  able  to  face  death  in  a  seemingly  calm  frame  of 
mind  is  a  thing  he  can't  grasp — it  upsets  all  his  little 
theories.  Makes  him,  I  verily  believe,  at  times  wonder 
whether  there  is  so  much  in  it  as  he  is  pledged  to  maintain ; 
but  he  scourges  the  thought  out  of  his  mind  as  a  temptation 
of  the  Devil.  Lord  knows  7  don't  want  to  put  it  there!  It 
would  be  an  infinite  consolation  to  me  to  believe  in  a  world 
that  rights  the  disasters  of  this.  But  there's  no  such  world ; 
I  can't  trick  my  brains  at  this  time  of  day.  To-morrow 
week  I — this  personality  through  which  alone  I  conceive  of 
the  world  as  existing — will  have  ceased  to  exist;  but  the 
said  world  will  go  on  existing  much  as  it  did  before. 

"Little  Phillips  holds  that  all  unbelief  is  based  on 

160 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  161 

hypocrisy :  on  the  sinner 's  rejection  of  a  moral  law.  Where 
do  parsons  live,  I  wonder  ?  In  what  circumnambient  black 
fog  of  prejudice  do  they  walk  this  earth  ?  Does  he  think  I 
would  not  rather  believe  in  a  heaven — yes,  or  in  a  hell  too — 
than  in  the  void  dark  ?  If  there  were  one  pin-point  of  foot 
hold  in  the  infinite,  wouldn't  I  cling  to  it!  To  believe  that 
I  might  live  and  see  Dodo  again,  however  dimly,  across  any 
bounds  of  time  or  space— or  even,  leaving  the  personal  ele 
ment  aside,  to  throw  oneself  altogether  upon  illimitable 
power,  by  which  all  mortal  wrongs  are  atoned  into  one  deep 
everlasting  purpose But  no:  there's  no  such  pur 
pose.  I  die  and  the  leaves  die,  and  the  only  difference  is 
that  I  suffer  and  they  don't.  .  .  .  Come,  there's  no  doubt 
that  I  have  the  religious  temperament !  Lee  was  right — I  am 
a  devot  manque,  not  a  pure-blooded  sceptic  as  he  was  himself. 
Can't  I  hear  him  now,  as  he  lay  writhing  his  life  out  in  my 
arms:  'I  don't  want  a  God,  I've  nowhere  to  put  him.' 
Clever  little  Lee,  with  your  shrewd  gay  eyes  and  your  Gallic 
impudence !  of  you  already  there's  nothing  left  but  a  hand 
ful  of  bones  and  half  a  dozen  memories.  All  the  same,  I  'm 
grateful  to  Binns  for  letting  me  keep  your  crucifix.  You 
wore  it  for  a  woman's  sake,  I  wear  it  for  yours:  who'll 
wear  it  for  mine?  No  one:  even  Dodo  could  hardly  be 
expected  to  take  it  off  such  a  neck  as  mine  will  be. 

"Let  me  be  quite  frank  with  myself.  Do  I  dread  it? 
Yes,  sickeningly:  I  can't  keep  my  hands  still  when  I  think 
of  it.  After  all,  what  is  it  ?  A  short  agony.  One  kicks  and 
dangles  in  the  air  for  as  much  as  three  minutes,  I  've  heard : 
but  after  the  first  minute  it's  not  much  more  than  the 
mechanical  kicking  of  a  frog.  I  wish  I  knew.  I  can't 
ask  any  one,  though:  little  Phillips  would  have  a  fit  if  I 
broached  the  subject  to  him,  and  the  medico  is  not  sym 
pathetic  to  me,  I  confess.  Darnley's  a  blackguard,  and 
knows  it,  and  knows  that  I  know  it.  ...  Binns  would 
know,  or  Madden :  but  I  can't  ask  them. 

"I  wish  it  weren't  so  beastly  undignified.     I  wish  they 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

didn  't  pinion  one 's  arms  and  legs.  I  wish  I  'd  never  heard 
of  that  case  a  year  or  so  back  when  the  trap  wouldn  't  work, 
and  the  poor  brute  was  led  out  three  times — ouf !  I  should 
break  down.  He  was  reprieved  in  the  end :  but  I  'd  rather 
die,  and  die  by  slow  torture,  than  be  three  times  dragged 
up  and  taken  off  again.  Besides,  I  dread  breaking  down. 

"Yet  I've  faced  it  before,  not  once  nor  twice — notably 
that  time  in  Cuba,  when  I  stayed  in  the  open  under  fire  to 
watch  Lee  die,  with  the  bullets  whining  around  me.  Much 
I  cared !  though  one  nicked  my  hair,  I  remember.  But  the 
risk,  the  fun  of  the  thing  pulled  one  through.  There's  no 
fun  in  this,  and  no  risk :  the  dice  are  loaded. 

"Also,  there's  no  doubt  this  prison  life  is  trying,  and 
I've  had  several  months  of  it.  When  one's  used  to  be 
always  out  of  doors  or  on  the  sea,  facing  the  sun  and  wind, 
this  close  confinement  takes  it  out  of  one.  ...  In  other 
words,  there  come  moments,  not  infrequently,  when  I  should 
like  to  tear  the  walls  down  with  my  hands,  and  feel  as  if  I 
could.  Tear  them  down !  I  could  gnaw  my  way  out  with 
my  teeth.  .  .  .  Then  again,  the  prison  discipline  tells  on 
one.  I'm  not  used  to  be  under  surveillance.  The  small 
indignities  are  no  worse,  I  dare  say,  than  is  necessary,  but 
they  chafe.  My  nerves  are  out  of  order.  I  believe  these 
sickening  fits  of  terror  are  half  nervous,  born  of  the  long 
confinement  and  bad  food  and  sleep. 

' '  Is  one  egoist,  under  these  circumstances !  A  man  would 
think  I  thought  of  nothing  but  myself.  He'd  be  wrong, 
though :  I  think  of  those  others  often  enough,  at  night,  when 
Madden  can't  see  me.  Then,  when  I  grow  very  sick  and 
don't  know  how  to  stand  it,  I  remind  myself  that  it's  worse 
for  them  than  for  me.  It  won't  last,  though.  Nothing 
lasts:  least  of  all,  the  memory  of  the  dead. 

"For  him,  the  cruel  thing  is  that  he  believes  I'm  guilty 
and  deny  it.  So  like  him !  if  there  were  two  views  to  take, 
he  always  chose  the  darker.  I  can't  for  the  life  of  me  (not 
much  of  an  oath  that,  by  the  bye)  see  how  he  caa  believe  I 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  163 

should  lie  to  him.  Faithful  heart !  loyal,  true,  and  tender 
friend !  I  should  royally  deserve  hanging  if  I  were  capable 
of  that.  But  you  do  believe  it,  and  protest  only  rubs  the 
wound:  so,  when  you  came  to  see  me,  like  the  augurs,  we 
didn't  know  which  way  to  look !  it  was  deadly  embarrassing. 
Still,  you  came.  Dear  old  friend,  this  be  your  epitaph: 
•'He  had  no  faith,  yet  remained  loyal.'  But  I  can't  say  I 
derived  much  pleasure  from  your  visit. 

"Only  eight  days  more!  It's  incredible — it's  like  a  bad 
dream.  Half  the  time  I  don't  realize  it,  and  when  I  do  it's 
not  only  real  but  realist.  After  saying  so  long,  'This  day 
fortnight  I  shall  run  up  to  town,  or  cut  over  to  Paris  for  a 
week-end,'  it  is  so  odd  to  have  to  say  instead,  'This  day 
fortnight  I  shall  be  dead  and  rotting.'  I've  seen  men  lie 
unburied  for  a  week  when  I  was  out  in  Cuba.  That  was  a 
hot  climate,  and  things  went  faster :  but  they  go  fast  enough 
anywhere.  Once  drop  out  of  the  ranks,  and  Nature  sees  to 
it  that  you  don 't  long  cumber  the  line  of  march.  This  hand 
of  mine,  now,  so  cleverly  put  together,  nerves  and  sinews, 
bone  and  flesh :  how  stiff  it  will  be  in  ten  days'  time !  Who 
was  that  devil  incarnate  who  dreamed  of  a  future  life  when 
the  soul  was  chained  to  the  body  ?  .  .  .  Morbid,  eh  ?  Try 
waiting  to  be  hanged,  and  see  if  you're  not  morbid! 

"How  the  old  days  haunt  one!  That  last  night  of  the 
Mays,  fourteen  years  ago — do  you  remember  that,  old 
Eoland?  We  bumped  Jesus,  and  came  out  head  of  the 
river — I'll  be  sworn  you've  not  forgotten  that.  You  and  I 
pulled  together  then,  and  now  you  think  I  'm  lying  to  you. 
Still,  you're  loyal:  let  me  not  be  unfair.  You  do  the  best 
you  can  with  a  suspicious  temperament.  But  it's  fine 
comedy,  to  hear  you  preach  to  me.  So  I  display  too  much 
levity,  do  I?  So  do  many  criminals  under  sentence,  I've 
heard.  Poor  devils !  if  all  their  levity  is  of  the  same  calibre 
as  mine.  .  .  . 

"This  cursed  strength  of  mine !  Sickness  makes  the  way 
easy:  but  to  die  with  all  your  strength  in  you,  with  your 


164  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

veins  full  of  blood  and  your  spirit  aching  for  all  that  only 
one  woman  can  give.  .  .  . 

"If  I  could  only  see  her — once,  once!  We've  had  so 
little  time  together,  and  we've  thrown  most  of  it  away. 
I've  only  once  heard  her  say  she  loved  me,  and  that  was 
before  them  all,  with  the  bobby  coming  up  the  avenue !  I 
never  would  have  believed  that  I  was  capable  of  caring  for 
any  woman  as  I  care  for  her.  "What  wouldn't  I  give — if 
I'd  anything  to  give — to  see  her  just  once,  even  here,  even 
under  B  inns'  eyes,  to  say  good-bye?  'But  is  that  true, 
Auburn  ? '  Oh,  precious  Roland !  what  should  we  do  in  this 
world  without  fools?  He  believed  it,  believed  that  I  didn't 
care  about  seeing  her — I  who  was  aching  with  the  thirst  to 
see  her!  And  I  had  only  to  lift  a  finger  and  she'd  have 
come,  my  white  Dodo,  to  break  her  heart  in  this  vile  hole, 
to  stamp  on  her  mind  those  memories  that  can  never  be 
effaced — yes:  I  suspect  that  such  a  farewell  interview,  so 
unforgettably  woeful,  would  have  bound  her  to  me  for  ever. 
I  could  not,  face  to  face,  have  pretended  to  do  less  than 
adore  her.  Oh !  my  darling !  oh,  my  darling !  .  .  .  Thank 
heaven,  I  had  just  sufficient  manhood  to  refuse.  Bind  you 
to  me?  No,  I  love  you  too  il  for  that.  You're  young: 
you'll  forget.  Not  so  soon  as  HC  ,nd  will :  but  soon  enough. 
I  give  him  a  couple  of  years,  you  Jliree  or  four  .  .  .  three 
to  be  healed,  four  or  five  to  love  again  and  marry  ...  and 
another  man  will  have  all  that  I  never  had,  and — and  you  '11 
call  your  eldest  boy  Charles!  You  won't  see  the  joke,  bless 
you.  Neither  shall  I,  then :  but  I  do  now. 

"Steady,  you  coward !  You  may  be  as  much  of  a  coward 
as  you  like  under  your  skin,  but  I  swear  to  you,  you  shan't 
whimper.  No,  you  shall  not  send  so  much  as  your  love. 
You  shall  do  what  you  can  to  make  it  easy  for  her  to  for 
get.  .  .  .  You  fool !  you  may  as  well  do  it  with  a  good 
grace.  .  .  ." 


XVIII. 

HAD  Auburn  only  known  it,  he  might  have  spared 
himself  much  suffering,  for  the  message  that  had 
cost  him  so  dear  was  but  idle  breath.     Dodo  listened  to 
it  gravely,  thanked  Roland,  and  said  to  Eoden,  "I  shall 
go  the  day  before  the  end." 

It  was  late  on  the  Monday  afternoon  when  she  passed  the 
doors  of  Hillingdon  Prison.  The  sallow  October  day — a 
day  of  vexing  wind  and  flaws  of  rain — was  drawing  to 
wards  an  early  close.  The  clouds  were  so  thickly  folded 
that  the  whole  face  of  heaven  was  darkened:  only  in  the 
west,  here  and  there,  light  peered  through  a  brownish  rift. 
The  leaves  of  a  stripped  acacia  danced  in  the  prison  yard. 
Within,  the  gloom  of  the  weather  was  accentuated  by  the 
cold  cleanliness  of  flagged  floors  and  yellow  walls.  Boden, 
who  had  obtained  leave  to  go  with  her  to  the  door  of  Au 
burn's  cell,  saw  her  shiver  as  her  eyes  fell  on  the  trapeze- 
work  of  stout  wire  netting  which  was  stretched  from  side  to 
side  and  from  end  to  end  of  the  central  hall  at  the  level  of 
each  landing.  Although  Hillingdon  was  but  a  county  jail, 
that  network  had  been  found  necessary  to  keep  prisoners 
from  cracking  their  skulls  on  the  floor  of  the  hall  below. 

The  warder  who  was  their  escort  unlocked  the  door  of 
the  visitors'  room  and  went  in  before  them,  but  Dodo 
followed  so  quickly  that  he  had  no  time  to  prepare  Au 
burn,  who  was  sitting  with  his  arms  folded  on  the  table. 
The  prisoner  sprang  to  his  feet.  Dodo  came  to  him  and 
held  out  her  hands,  he  took  them,  and  so  held  her  for  a 
few  moments:  till  without  a  word  she  threw  her  arms 
round  him  and  laid  down  her  head. 

165 


166  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

"I  told  you  not  to  come,  Dodo." 

"I'd  have  come  if  I'd  been  dying — I'd  have  come  from 
the  dead." 

Silence  again,  and  for  both  a  space  of  pure  forgetful- 
ness.  Passion,  like  a  fire,  had  burnt  up  what  had  been 
and  what  was  to  come  after ;  for  the  lovers  nothing  existed 
but  their  love. 

"Lift  your  face,"  said  Auburn.  "I 'ye  dreamed  of  it 
so  often,  and  couldn't  always  remember  it."  Dodo  raised 
her  head,  white  and  tense  as  he  had  seen  it  in  the  court 
room,  her  eyes  blue  as  steel  and  undimmed  by  tears. 
"Dodo,  you  won't  forget  me?" 

"No,  Charles." 

"Don't  forget  me!" 

"My  darling,  I  promise  you " 

He  laid  his  hand  over  her  lips:  his  face  was  colorless. 
"Hush !  You're  not  to  say  it.  "What  a  fool — what  a  scoun 
drel  I  am ! ' '  She  saw  him  crushing  and  chaining  down  the 
anguish  that  had  momentarily  betrayed  itself,  repressing 
his  love  and  agony  and  weakness  and  fear,  schooling  him 
self  to  talk  quietly  and  to  look  carelessly,  to  unfasten  eyes 
from  eyes  and  heart  from  heart.  Very  gently  he  disen 
gaged  himself  from  her  arms,  and  drew  forward  his  own 
chair,  and  made  her  sit  down,  himself  seated  sideways  on 
the  edge  of  the  table  close  by :  and  her  lover,  broken  down 
by  suffering,  of  a  moment  ago  was  once  more  the  self- 
contained  Auburn  of  Stanton  Mere.  Dodo  could  hardly 
breathe  for  the  constriction  of  her  throat:  her  own  grief 
sank  under  the  intolerable  burden  of  pity.  She  thought 
him  needlessly  cruel  to  himself  and  to  her,  till  with  his 
next  words  illumination  broke  upon  her.  He  was  not 
weak,  to  let  the  jailer's  presence  trouble  him — he  had  been, 
he  could  have  continued  to  be,  royally  indifferent  to  that : 
nor  vain,  to  nurse  his  own  dignity;  his  rigid,  iron-handed 
self-control  was  based  on  a  worthier  motive  than  self-con 
sciousness  or  pride. 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  167 

"Please  don't  say  or  think  of  saying  anything  of  that 
sort,  Dodo.  I  don't  want  you  to  swear  eternal  constancy." 

''Why  not?" 

"Really — "  he  was  bending  over  her  and  his  voice  had 
dropped  to  a  murmur,  but  his  manner  was  cool  to  the  brink 
of  hardness — "that  kind  of  thing  strikes  me  as  rather  ab 
surd.  Where's  the  use  of  it?  You  lose,  and  I  don't  gain." 

"You  think  to-morrow  is  the  end  of  everything?" 

"  'In  heaven  they  neither  marry  .  .  .'  On  your  own 
showing,  you  see,  there 's  no  chance  for  us.  We  might  meet 
as  angels,  my  dear :  but  that  would  give  me  no  satisfaction. 
No:  our  little  romance — so  short  it's  been,  hasn't  it? — is 
finished  and  done  with.  You  oughtn't  to  have  come  here 
to-day.  Didn  't  that  ass  Roland  give  you  my  message  ? ' ' 

"Of  course  he  did,"  Dodo  answered  with  a  derisive  ac 
cent,  "taking  precautions  not  to  wound  me.  But  I  dis 
cerned  your  native  candour  through  his  wrappings  of 
politeness,  and,  you  see,  I  understood."  She  saw  the 
nervous  movement  of  his  lingers,  clenched  over  the  edge 
of  the  table,  and  pitied  him.  "But  we'll  play  the  game, 
if  you  like.  Let  me  see,  what's  it  to  be?  You're  to  die 
to-morrow,  and  that's  to  be  the  end  of  you,  and  I — I'm  to 
get  it  over  it  and  marry  some  one  else,  I  suppose  ? ' ' 

"What's  that?"  said  Auburn,  perturbed,  thrown  out 
of  his  part.  "Dodo — you're  talking  nonsense." 

"Am  I?  You  see  this  little  romance — this  boy  and 
girl  affair  of  ours — has  given  me  a  certain  degree  of 
acuteness,  and — oh,  have  it  your  own  way !  Do  you  know 
you're  looking  very  ill,  Charles?" 

She  touched  his  hand:  it  was  cold  and  wet,  and  his 
face  was  lined  like  that  of  a  man  of  fifty.  She  saw  that 
he  was  resolute,  and  that  she  was  throwing  a  heavy  strain 
on  him  to  no  purpose,  and  after  a  moment  she  began  to 
speak  in  an  altered  tone,  frankly  and  gently,  without 
passion  and  without  irony,  though  all  the  strength  of  her 
nature  revolted  against  the  loss  of  their  last  hour  together. 


168  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

"People  have  been  very  kind.  Roland  told  you  we  were 
going  to  petition?  It  has  come  to  nothing,  of  course,  but 
still  I  'm  glad  we  tried  it.  "We  had  over  six  hundred  thou 
sand  names.  Many  people  believe  you're  innocent,  you 
know.  Roland  offered  a  reward  of  a  thousand  pounds: 
that  has  come  to  nothing,  too,  but  I  was  glad  he  did  it." 

"Heroic  of  him,  as  he's  not  one  of  those  who  believe." 

"Yes,  that  is  queer.  I  was  talking  about  it  to  Mrs. 
Carew  the  other  day:  she's  very  loyal,  she  made  me 
understand  his  position  better  than  I  ever  did  before. 
You  see,  he  was  prepossessed  with  the  idea  that  if  you 
and  Sir  Charles  met  yoa  would  quarrel,  and  he  seems  to 
have  had  an  almost  superstitious  dread  of  what  would 
come  of  it :  so,  when  the  news  came,  it  was  hardly  so  much 
as  a  surprise — it  was  only  a  confirmation  of  what  he  had 
feared  from  the  first. ' ' 

"Your  apologetics  are  thrown  away,  my  dear:  I  know 
Roland's  ways.  I  should  have  been  more  surprised  if  he 
had  believed  me." 

"Are  you  trying  to  convince  me  that  you  were  not  hurt 
— cut  to  the  heart — by  what  he  said?  Don't,  Charles:  you 
won't  succeed." 

"He  did  sting,"  Auburn  owned,  "but  don't  you  tell  him 
I  said  so.  How  you  read  me,  Dodo!" 

"Profoundly,  don't  I?  Never  mind,  I  won't  be  discon 
certing  any  more.  I  pity  Mr.  Carew  when  the  truth  comes 
out,  though:  he'll  never  forgive  himself." 

"I  rather  hope  the  truth  never  will  eome  out.  Think 
of  old  Dymock's  feelings — to  say  nothing  of  the  jury!" 

"I  doubt  if  Mr.  Dymock  will  feel  anything  at  all.  He's 
very  ill:  he  had  a  sort  of  stroke  only  a  day  or  two  after 
the  trial,  and  he's  been  unconscious  or  light-headed  ever 
since. ' ' 

"Really!  Poor  old  chap,  I'm  sorry  for  that:  he  was 
very  decent  to  me — cut  short  his  peroration,  for  which  I 
was  grateful.  Tell  me  how  all  your  own  people  are." 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  169 

"Bernard's  very  fit.  One  would  really  think  he  was 
rather  pleased  than  otherwise.  He  turned  up  to  lunch 
yesterday.  We're  still  at  the  Carews',  you  know,  Roddy 
and  I,  and  the  others  come  and  go.  It's  rather  an  uncon 
scionable  visit,  but  they  evidently  don't  mind — I  think 
Roland  hardly  realizes  what  goes  on  round  him.  Father 
sent  his  love  to  you.  He's  one  of  those  who  believe,  by 
the  bye:  it  was  what  you  said  in  court  that  finally  con 
vinced  him." 

"I've  a  vague  impression  that  I  made  rather  a  fool  of 
myself." 

Oh  no!  You  were  remarkably  dignified,  I  assure  you: 
not  a  shade  of  self -consciousness,  that  struck  us  all.  Father 
saw  it  in  print,  and  told  us  that  if  he  had  not  known  you 
he  would,  from  his  experience  of  the  way  men  tell  lies, 
have  betted  his  last  sou  you  were  speaking  the  truth." 

"How  are  the  boys?" 

"Very  distressed.  Dickie  has  gone  back  to  his  regiment: 
he  couldn't  get  an  extension  of  leave,  and  I  think  he  was 
glad  to  go.  Caron  has  been  at  his  rooms  in  town,  but  he 
came  down  to  Ferndean  yesterday.  He  helped  us  to 
get  heaps  of  theatrical  and  artistic  signatures.  Roddy  of 
course  is  staying  with  me.  He  brought  me  here  to-day: 
I  wanted  him  to  eome  in  for  half  a  minute,  but  he 
wouldn't." 

"Why  not?" 

Dodo  shook  her  head.  "Roddy  is  very  queer.  There  was 
always  a  queer  strain  in  him,  and  all  this  has  developed  it. 
He  tries  hard  to  be  normal,  but  I  know  him  pretty  well, 
and  I  'm  sure  there  is  something  wrong.  He  liked  you  very 
much,  and  he's  always  been  a  great  dear  to  me,  bpt  there's 
more  than  brotherly  affection  in  the  way  he's  taken  this. 
Dr.  Sartoris  used  to  say  that  he  was  highly  nervous,  and 
I  think  the  horror  of  it  has  worn  on  his  nerves.  Grace 
said  once  that  he  looks  as  if  he  was  ghost-ridden." 

"Grace?" 


170  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

"Grace  Trevor.  She's  here  at  the  Carews'  for  a  few 
nights." 

"To  see  you  through?  Good  old  girl!  Have  you  seen 
anything  of  Lesbia?" 

"Not  since  the  trial.  Jeannie  has  been  ill,  and  Lesbia 
stayed  at  home  to  nurse  her — so  Mr.  Carew  said :  he  went 
in  there  one  day.  But  we  have  been  very  busy,  you  know : 
petitions  take  up  a  lot  of  time,  organizing  and  despatching 
forms  and  getting  the  printing  done.  Oh,  and,  Charles — 
I  wanted  to  thank  you  for  something  that  Mr.  Carew 
told  me." 

"You  were  not  angry?" 

"No:  I  understood.  It  was  very  good  of  you  to  think 
of  it." 

"I  do  not  see  you  working  for  your  living,  Dodo:  and — 
forgive  me — one  doesn't  grow  rich  nowadays  in  the 
Church." 

"We're  not  millionaires,"  said  Dodo  dryly.  "I've  al 
ways  looked  forward  to  being  a  nursery  governess  or  a 
lady's  companion  in  my  declining  years:  always,  that  is, 
till  I  thought  I  should  be  your  wife." 

She  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  was  silent  for  a  little 
while.  Within  the  prison  the  evening  had  darkened  fast: 
so  little  light  came  in  through  the  high,  barred  window 
even  by  daytime  that  the  room  was  now  full  of  shadows. 
They  could  almost  have  imagined  themselves  alone.  Still 
seated  on  the  edge  of  the  table,  with  his  arms  folded,  and 
his  head  thrown  back,  Auburn  had  completely  regained 
control  of  himself,  and  looked  so  full  of  life  and  so  vigor 
ously  healthy,  with  his  tanned  skin  and  brilliant  eyes,  that 
it  was  hard  to  believe  him  not  twenty-four  hours  from 
death.  If  she  had  wished  to  go  on  talking  at  the  same 
level,  Dodo  would  have  done  well  to  give  herself  no  leisure 
to  think.  A  shudder  seized  her  and  shook  her  from  head 
to  foot  "Dear,  what  is  it?"  said  Auburn,  quickly,  bend 
ing  over  her. 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  171 

"This  time  to-morrow !"  said  Dodo  with  a  gesture  of 

horror. 

"Why,  you  won't  see  me,"  said  Auburn,  "that  won't 
hurt  you." 

"Oh,  don't,  Charles!"  Dodo  cried  out:  and  then,  half 
suffocating,  "oh,  don't  make  me  laugh!"  Auburn  threw 
his  arm  round  her :  he  had  spoken  in  good  faith,  and  could 
not  now  see  exactly  where  the  joke  lay,  but  he  had  seen 
hysteria  once  or  twice  in  men,  and  knew  the  real  from  the 
less  dangerous  variety.  "Don't  make  a  scene,  Dodo!"  he 
said  roughly,  and  Dodo,  white  and  shaken,  came  gradually 
back  from  the  borderland.  But  he  dared  not  withdraw  his 
arm,  and  in  that  close  bodily  contact  there  came  to  Dodo 
the  certainty  that  she  could  not  any  longer  bear  to  be  held 
spiritually  away  from  him.  She  leaned  her  head  against 
him :  her  lips  were  close  to  his  ear. 

"Do  you  think  I  care?"  she  murmured:  "do  you  think 
I  would  not  love  to  hold  you,  dead,  to-morrow  as  you're 
holding  me  to-day  ?  You  know  so  very  little  of  women. ' ' 

"Don't  know:  I've  had  plenty  of  experience." 

' '  I  am  not  amenable  to  those  tactics :  you  can 't  make  me 
jealous.  How  fantastic  you  are,  Charles!  Why  do  you 
want  to  keep  me  at  arm's  length?" 

"Do  I  look  like  keeping  you  at  arm's  length?" 

"You're  doing  it.  I  shall  never  marry  any  one  but  you. 
Don't  you  believe  that?" 

Auburn  was  silent,  but  the  strong,  sardonic  curve  of  his 
mouth  betrayed  his  mind. 

"What!  you  think  I  shall  marry?" 

"My  child,  you're  very  young.  Constancy  is  a  virtue 
much  believed  in  by  youth :  at  my  age  one  finds  it  hard  to 
distinguish  it  from  a  vice." 

"I  only  know  there  never  will  be  any  other  man  in  the 
world  for  me  but  you." 

"Of  course  not!"  said  Auburn  derisively,  "besides, 
you'll  die  of  a  broken  heart  before  a  twelvemonth  is  over." 


17S  AN    ORDEAL    OF   HONOR 

"No,  I  shan't;  it  isn't  so  easy  when  you're  young  and 
strong.  But  I  never  shall  forget." 

"Dodo,  you  can't  devote  yourself  to  the  memory  of  a 
man  that  was  hanged:  it's  too  squalid.  Besides,"  he  saw 
her  flinch,  and  tried  to  soften  the  harshness  of  his  own 
words,  "you  are  such  a  child:  you've  only  known  me  a 
few  weeks.  This  day  six  months  ago  you  had  never  set 
eyes  on  me.  Be  content  with  the  loyalty  you've  given  me 
while  I  was  alive,  and  don't  try  to  turn  yourself  into  a 
little  weeping  willow  over  my  grave.  You're  too  young, 
and  I'm  too  old,  and — and  the  whole  affair  is  too  sicken- 
ingly  hard  lines  on  a  child  like  you."  He  could  not  go 
on:  Dodo's  deep  ironical  eyes  mocked  him  from  his  cyni 
cism,  genuine  though  it  was.  He  had  not  an  atom  of  faith 
in  her,  but  she  could  make  him  ashamed  of  his  want  of 
faith.  Indeed,  she  had  great  power  over  him,  greater  than 
she  had  ever  realized  before:  and  strong  and  strange  the 
desire  came  upon  her  to  make  full  trial  of  that  power,  to 
plumb  the  depths  of  this  uncharted  sea  which  was  bearing 
her  ship  so  far  out  of  sight  of  land.  She  threw  her  arm 
round  his  neck  and  drew  him  down  against  her.  Unable 
to  extricate  himself,  Auburn  knelt  at  her  side,  leaning  his 
head  against  her  breast,  his  breath  coming  in  labored  gasps : 
weakened  by  the  long  confinement  and  nervous  strain,  he 
was  within  an  ace  of  breaking  down,  and  would  have  done 
it — so  thoroughly  had  Dodo  wrought  upon  him — if  it  had 
not  been  for  his  inflexible  determination  to  leave  her  free. 
What  he  did  not  understand  was  that  Dodo,  reading  his 
struggles  with  her  acute  woman's  eyes,  was  more  pro 
foundly  moved  by  them  than  she  ever  would  have  been  by 
a  weak  appeal  for  pity.  She  held  him  locked  in  her  arms, 
as  if  she  would  have  defied  death  itself  to  take  him  from 
her.  "Oh,  my  darling,"  she  said,  weeping,  "I  did  not 
think  it  could  hurt  so  to  love  any  one." 

"Don't  cry,  dear." 

"I  wish  I'd  married  you — I  wish  I'd  made  you  marry 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  173 

me  in  prison.  I  can't  bear  to  have  you  die  without  be 
lieving  me.  Do  you  think  I  could  bear  to  suffer  like  this 
twice  over?" 

"No,  my  sweetheart:  I  think  next  time  you  will  prob 
ably  have  better  luck." 

"You  think  that  I  shall  have  another  lover  after  you, 
and  let  another  man  hold  me  as  you're  holding  me?  I 
should  feel  myself  unchaste  for  ever.  It  would  be  a  sin." 

"No,  Dodo:  it  will  be  perfectly  natural  and  right." 

"Oh!"  said  Dodo,  outraged.  "Charles,  you  must  be 
lieve  me!" 

"I  do  believe  you.  I  know  you  mean  it — now:  but  in 
five  years'  time " 

" or  in  fifty  years'  time,  I'll  never  forget  you, 

never!  Listen:  I  give  you  my  word  of  honor,  I  swear  to 
you  by  this  love  of  ours  which  I  believe  will  be  eternal " 

He  had  freed  himself,  and  sprang  up:  he  turned  on 
Binns  with  a  movement  of  command.  "Get  that  door 
open!"  he  said.  Binns  stared  at  him,  dumbfounded:  he 
had  witnessed  some  curious  farewell  interviews,  but  Au 
burn's  white  fury  was  a  novelty  to  him.  "Will  you  get 
that  door  open,  damn  you  ? ' '  said  Auburn.  Dodo  rose :  in 
her,  too,  the  feeling  momentarily  dominant  was  a  para 
doxical  anger. 

"All  right,  I'm  going,"  she  said.  She  walked  to  the 
door  and  called  through  it.  "Roden,  make  them  let  me 
out,  please." 

"I  told  you  not  to  come,"  said  Auburn  sullenly. 

"I  certainly  shan't  come  again,"  said  Dodo. 

"No  .  .  ."  said  Auburn. 

Their  eyes  met,  and  Dodo  realized  what  she  was  saying. 
Her  heart  died  within  her :  but  with  that  realization  came 
also  the  knowledge  that  she  had  not  hurt  him,  for  he  under 
stood.  Meanwhile  the  door  was  unlocked  and  Roden  en 
tered  with  a  warder.  It  was  all  over,  the  end  had  come. 
"Come,  dear,"  said  Roden,  drawing  her  hand  through  his 


174  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

arm:  and  without  one  word  more  Dodo  went  out  into  the 
corridor.  Eoden  turned  in  the  doorway  to  wave  his  hand 
to  Auburn,  standing  motionless  in  the  middle  of  the  room : 
and  he  saw,  what  Dodo  did  not  see,  the  white  change  that 
went  over  the  prisoner's  face  when  this  last  instant  came. 
But  there  was  nothing  to  be  done:  the  intolerable  had  to 
be  borne:  and  good-tempered  Binns,  brushing  the  back  of 
his  hand  across  his  eyes,  shut  the  door  and  relocked  it. 

"Dodo  has  come  and  gone.  I  would  I  had  never  seen  her. 
My  love,  my  darling!  I  never  shall  see  her  again,  not  in 
this  world  nor  in  the  next.  I  wish  I  could  be  alone  for  ten 
minutes. 

"She's  pretty,  is  Dodo;  slight  and  fine,  with  eyes  like 
blue  steel,  and  white,  fine  features.  Eminently  pretty  and 
marriageable.  ...  0  God!  0  God!  Steady,  my  friend: 
you  verge  on  the  grotesque,  with  your  insane  jealousy. 
You,  jealous?  Et  pour  cause!  A  dead  man  jealous  of  the 
living  .  .  .  you  11  be  an  acceptable  lover  by  this  time  to 
morrow,  eh?  No,  you  must  let  her  go— let  her  go?  as  if 
you  could  keep  her!  They'll  all  forget  me,  all,  all!  the 
world  will  go  on  its  way  exactly  as  if  I  had  never  lived. 

"At  all  events  death  brings  annihilation:  there's  no 
jealousy  in  the  grave. ' ' 


XIX. 

TEAGIC  events  claim,  but  rarely  gain,  a  tragic  setting. 
For  one  human  soul  that  suffers  amid  storm,  and  dark, 
and  silence,  ten  have  to  play  out  their  parts  in  the  kitchen 
or  the  drawing-room,  drying  their  eyes  to  face  the  gaslight, 
steeling  their  lips  to  talk  politics,  or  the  last  new  play. 

Life  at  Ferndean  had  flowed  on  pretty  much  as  usual 
during  Auburn's  trial,  and  now,  on  the  last  night  of  his 
life,  the  routine  of  dressing  and  dining  had  to  be  gone 
through,  and  conversation  kept  up  before  the  servants, 
though  no  one  could  eat  anything,  or  cared  to  hear  what  his 
neighbor  said.  Dodo  herself,  on  her  return  from  the  jail, 
had  told  Koden  that  she  should  stay  in  her  room :  but  when 
the  dressing-bell  rang  a  flickering  gleam  of  humor  made 
her  spring  up  to  change  her  clothes.  She  saw  the  inevitable 
tray,  the  glass  of  port  and  the  wing  of  chicken.  Too 
absurd,  all  that ! 

The  men  did  not  linger  over  their  wine,  and  by  nine 
o'clock  all  the  inmates  of  Ferndean  were  gathered  in  the 
great  hall.  No  sadder  company  had  ever  gathered  there, 
since  the  days  when  Amyas  Carew  built  it  to  please  his 
young  wife,  six  months  before  he  fell  at  Sedgmoor — for  the 
Carews  had  been  Protestant  always,  and  rebels  whenever 
their  principles  allowed.  The  old  hall  had  seen  many  livea 
come  and  go,  merrily  or  sadly ;  but  no  ordinary  death  could 
have  created  such  an  oppression  as  reigned  in  it  now. 

It  was  a  place  of  shadows.  To-night  it  was  unlit,  except 
for  a  couple  of  shaded  lamps,  and  for  the  dance  of  bright 
ness  painted  over  Jacobean  wainscoting  and  smoke-dark 
ened  beams  by  the  flames  that  leaped  on  the  great  hearth. 

175 


176  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

The  staircase,  broad  and  shallow  and  slippery  as  glass,  was 
also  Jacobean,  and  a  curiosity:  an  oak  peacock  spread  his 
clipped  plumage  on  each  finial  of  the  balustrade.  Near  by 
a  tall  window,  opening  on  the  terrace,  framed  a  peep  of 
moonlit  and  stormy  landscape,  while  snatches  of  broken 
music,  no  less  stormy,  floated  through  the  half -closed  door 
of  the  drawing-room,  where  Roland  Carew  sat  alone  in  the 
dark,  touching  the  keys  as  the  whim  came  on  him. 

All  those  most  deeply  interested  in  Auburn's  fate  were 
there,  for  Carew  had  thrown  open  his  house  with  a  hos 
pitality  not  only  ungrudging  but  unconscious.  All  that  he 
had  was  at  the  service  of  Auburn  and  of  Auburn 's  friends. 
Roden  and  Dodo  had  stayed  at  Ferndean  since  July:  Mr. 
Carminow  had  come  up  a  week  since  to  look  after  his  chil 
dren:  and  the  day  before  had  brought  Caron,  and  also, 
after  a  hard  fight  with  her  parents,  Grace  Trevor.  She 
was  Dodo's  only  woman  friend,  and  she  knew  that  Dodo 
would  have  need  of  friendship  in  the  coming  dread  hours. 

So  far,  however,  Grace  owned  sorrowfully  that  she  was 
useless.  Dodo  had  tried  to  sew,  to  read:  an  open  book,  a 
litter  of  needle-work  testified  to  her  mind's  disorder.  She 
stood  by  the  window  looking  out  into  the  half -dark  of  the 
wild  night,  where  now  and  then  the  moon,  peering  out  be 
tween  banks  of  driven  cloud,  held  up  her  wan  crescent 
notched  and  streaked  with  their  jagged  blackness.  Dead 
leaves  whirled  like  withered  elves  over  the  long  autumnal 
grass,  and  the  trees,  almost  bare,  writhed  their  giant  arms 
downward  and  up  again  under  the  hammering  of  the  gale. 
The  wind  hooted  through  them  in  a  loud,  high,  prolonged 
piping,  like  the  hoot  of  sirens  over  the  sea. 

Dodo  was  beyond  thought.  During  long  intervals  she 
lost  all  consciousness  of  her  surroundings.  She  was  back  in 
Auburn's  cell,  re-living  the  evening's  interview,  steeping 
herself  in  a  sense  of  warmth  and  strong  vitality.  She  felt 
his  arms  close  round  her  in  the  recklessness  of  passion  and 
draw  her  down  against  his  breast,  against  his  hurried 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  17T 

breathing  and  the  heavy  throb  of  his  heart.  Meanwhile  the 
Dutch  clock  in  the  hall,  with  the  clicking  of  its  brass  pendu 
lum,  ticked  off  the  last  seconds  of  his  life  on  earth.  Onee 
or  twice  Dodo  heard  it,  and  said  to  herself,  ' '  This  time  to 
morrow  he  will  be  dead  and  stiff,"  but  the  words  had  no 
meaning. 

Not  far  off  sat  her  father,  watching  her  and  Caron — the 
latter  an  habitual  anxiety — under  cover  of  the  Times.  Poor 
Mr.  Carminow !  It  was  a  hard  fate  that  had  plunged  him 
into  such  a  business.  Epicurean  that  he  was,  a  life  spent 
in  doing  good  had  not  taught  him  to  face  grief  as  inevitable, 
and  with  an  exquisite  pitying  tenderness  both  for  Auburn 
and  for  Dodo  was  mixed  up  an  angry  wonder  that  Provi 
dence  should  suffer  such  miseries  to  go  on. 

The  same  vein  of  weakness  as  ran  through  Mr.  Car 
minow 's  character  reappeared  in  a  different  form  in  his 
second  son.  Caron,  after  varying  all  day  between  fits  of 
wild  excitement  and  irritable  gloom,  had  been  persuaded  to 
lie  down  on  the  sofa  with  a  book  recommended  by  Violet 
Carew:  the  book — a  clever  sketch  of  modern  Danish  art, 
interleaved  with  line  engravings — had  proved  unexpectedly 
interesting:  and  Caron  was  as  deeply  absorbed  in  it  as  a 
strong  sense  of  the  dramatic  allowed.  Now  and  then  he 
ruffled  the  pages  impatiently,  or  threw  it  down  with  a  sigh, 
but  he  soon  picked  it  up  again. 

Roden  too  was  deep  in  a  book — a  weak  library  novel: 
turning  leaf  after  leaf  with  a  face  devoid  of  expression  and 
eyes  riveted  to  the  print.  Fair,  and  wearing  only  a  slight 
moustache,  he  had  a  deceptively  youthful  and  innocent  air, 
and  nothing  in  his  dress  (point  device  as  ever)  or  personal 
appearance  suggested  that  he  had  a  care  in  the  world.  None 
the  less  Violet  Carew,  raising  her  head  now  and  again  from 
her  needle-work  to  glance  at  him,  felt  her  eyelids  burn. 

Near  the  fire  sat  Grace  Trevor,  squarely  upright  in  an 
oak  chair,  her  needles  clicking  in  and  out  of  a  silk  tie.  She 
too  found  her  sight  more  than  once  so  dim  that  she  could 


178  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

not  count  her  stitches.  A  sense  of  sadness,  irremediable, 
insufferable,  weighed  upon  her.  She  grieved  for  Auburn, 
as  well  as  for  Dodo :  it  seemed  to  her  but  yesterday  that  she 
had  watched  him  come  swinging  across  the  moor  in  his 
flower  and  pride  of  life.  But  now  he  must  die,  and  with 
him,  as  Grace  full  well  knew,  the  flower  of  Dodo's  life 
would  wither  too:  and  well  for  all  if  it  were  only  Dodo! 
No  wonder  that  such  bitter  dew  gathered  again  and  again 
in  Grace  Trevor's  loyal  eyes. 

The  strain  of  Celtic  blood  in  Roland  Carew  broke  out  in 
his  playing.  Although  not  always  note-perfect,  he  had  the 
born  musician's  hand:  a  touch  that  made  the  wires  throb 
like  harp-strings.  So  long  as  he  confined  himself  to  broken 
snatches  of  harmony,  the  Appassionato,  with  its  tragic  open 
ing  chords,  the  mountain-music  of  the  Wilhelm  Tell,  his 
audience  were  content:  but  by  and  by  he  struck  upon  a 
theme  which  made  some  of  them  shiver.  The  wail  of  this 
lament,  its  note  of  inconsolable  anguish,  was  too  much  like 
a  woman  crying  to  fall  agreeably  on  Roden's  ear:  while 
Mr.  Carminow  rustled  his  newspaper  as  if  he  would  have 
liked  to  drown  it,  and  Caron,  the  intemperate,  threw  down 
his  Danish  Art  and  started  up  with  a  word  of  anger. 

''What  on  earth  is  that  thing  Carew 's  playing?" 

"Chopin's  funeral  march,"  said  Dodo. 

Roden  strolled  over  to  the  open  door.  "Play  something 
lighter,  Carew,  if  you  don't  mind — 'Songs  of  Araby,'  or 
the  Waltz  in  Faust.  You're  rather — premature." 

Roland  stopped  dead,  horrified,  in  the  middle  of  a  bar. 
He  answered  out  of  the  dark,  his  full,  grave  tones  a  rebuke 
to  Roden's  ironical  affectation.  "I'm  very  sorry.  It  came 
into  my  head,  and  I  forgot  what  it  was.  I  never  meant  to 
play  it" 

"Wait  a  few  hours,"  said  Dodo. 

Roland  Carew 's  music  and  Caron 's  curious  anger  had 
shaken  her  out  of  her  abstraction.  She  came  to  the  fire  and 
stood  leaning  her  arm  along  the  high  oaken  chimney-piece, 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  179 

stretching  out  her  left  hand  to  the  flames,  which  struck 
green  sparks  out  of  Auburn's  emerald.  Foy  pour  devoir: 
BO  ran  the  legend  on  the  gold  against  her  skin.  The  heavy 
silence  was  broken  by  the  chime  of  the  clock  striking  ten. 

"Dodo,  my  darling,"  said  Mr.  Carminow,  " won't  you  go 

to  bed?  You'll  be  so  tired  to-morrow "  he  broke  off: 

not  one  of  them  dared  face  the  thought  of  that  morrow. 
"I  don't  want  my  little  girl  to  make  herself  ill." 

She  tried  to  rouse  herself,  to  respond  with  a  smile  to  his 
loving  care.  "I'll  go  in  a  little  while.  It's  so  early  yet, 
darling." 

Violet  Carew  threw  in  a  quiet  word  to  introduce  a  safe 
impersonal  element  into  the  nascent  talk.  "Has  any  one 
heard  how  Mr.  Dymock  is  to-day?" 

' '  No  better, ' '  said  Roden.  * '  They  doubt  if  he  will  recover 
consciousness  at  all  before  the  end." 

' '  What  is  really  the  matter  ? ' '  asked  Grace  Trevor. 

"A  stroke  of  paralysis,  they  tell  me.  I  heard  he  was 
feeling  very  ill  before  the  trial,  but  no  one  had  any  idea 
that  he  would  collapse  so  suddenly  within  three  or  four 
days.  So  far  as  we're  concerned,  though,  it  makes  no  dif 
ference  :  we  had  nothing  to  hope  from  him.  The  summing- 
up  was  dead  against  us,  and  Maine  tells  me  his  notes  were 
examined  and  found  to  be  quite  conclusive. ' ' 

Roden  spoke  with  a  touch  of  deliberation.  Conversation 
on  indifferent  topics  being  impracticable,  it  seemed  to  him 
that  any  sort  of  conversation  was  better  than  none  at  all, 
and  so  it  did  to  Mr.  Carminow.  Anything  to  soothe  Dodo's 
restlessness  and  recall  her  brooding  fancy ! 

"Maine  didn't  tell  me  they  had  looked  over  his  papers, 
but  I  'm  glad  of  it.  It  would  be  intolerable  to  feel  that  the 
fate  of  the  petition  was  affected  by  the  accident  of  a  judge's 
illness." 

"Accident!"  repeated  Caron.  "There's  precious  little 
accident  about  the  case,  it  seems  to  me.  Men  don't  crack 
their  own  skulls  by  accident." 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

' '  You  mean  that  there  must  have  been  some  one  who  did 
it  ?  Yes :  isn  't  that  a  queer  idea  ? ' '  said  Dodo  slowly. 

She  turned  her  hand  about  in  the  firelight  and  watched 
:the  green  gleams  flash  this  way  and  that.  "That  really  is 
the  strangest  part  in  the  whole  affair — the  part  of  it  that  I 
:find  hardest  to  realize.  Some  one  must  have  killed  Sir 
Charles,  and  apparently — for  all  the  evidence  points  that 
way — it  must  have  been  some  one  who  lived  near  and  knew 
his  habits.  It  couldn't  have  been  an  ordinary  burglar,  be 
cause  nothing  was  stolen:  it  could  hardly  have  been  a 
planned  revenge,  or  the  man  would  have  brought  a  weapon 
of  his  own.  In  fact,  what  with  Charles  in  the  garden,  and 
Lesbia  awake  at  the  lodge,  and  Sir  Charles  himself,  so  far 
as  we  know,  more  than  usually  sober,  it's  hard  to  see  how 
any  one  could  have  got  in  at  all  without  attracting  atten 
tion,  unless  he  knew  the  ins  and  outs  of  the  place  very  well. 
It  looks  almost  as  if  it  had  been  some  one  inside  the  house, 
and  yet  there  was  no  shadow  of  ground  for  suspecting  any 
of  the  servants.  But  isn 't  it  queer  to  think  that  somewhere 
in  the  world,  and  not  improbably  in  this  very  village,  there- 
is  a  man  who,  if  he'd  only  confess,  would  still  be  in  time  to 
clear  Charles?" 

"Only  confess — only  slip  the  noose  round  his  own 
throat,"  said  Caron:  "thank  you:  that  is  a  considerable 
proposal.  Men  aren  't  so  fond  of  chucking  their  lives  away ! 
I  would  not  do  it." 

"I  would,"  said  Mr.  Carminow.  "I  mean  that  if  I  had 
done  such  a  thing,  and  were  secure  from  detection,  and  had 
no  particular  moral  scruples,  I  should  give  myself  up  all 
the  same.  Imagine  what  that  man 's  feelings  must  be  like ! 
I  can  conceive  nothing  more  dreadful  than  to  stand  by  and 
see  an  innocent  man  suffer,  knowing  that  a  word  from  you 
could  end  it." 

"Nor  I,"  said  Dodo.  "One  would  never  be  able  to  get 
the  thought  of  it  out  of  one's  mind." 

"How  do  you  know!"  said  Caron,  willing  as  usual  to 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  181 

argue  any  case  from  any  standpoint.  "He  might  have 
some  perfectly  unselfish  and  legitimate  reason  for  holding 
his  tongue — you  never  can  tell.  Suppose  he  were  married 
and  his  wife  were  very  ill " 

"That  would  be  a  motive,  not  an  excuse,"  said  Dodo. 
"If  he  were  guilty  it  ought  to  be  his  wife  who  suffered,  not 
Charles'." 

Caron  dropped  that  instance,  with  a  sensation  of  having 
burnt  his  fingers.  "Well!  take  the  case  of  a  priest  in  the 
confessional. ' ' 

"But  the  priest  is  not  the  guilty  man,"  Dodo  objected. 

"  No :  but  we  're  assuming  that  he  knows  who  the  guilty 
man  is.  He's  an  accessory." 

' '  Then  it  would  be  his  duty  to  speak  out, ' '  said  Mr,  Car- 
minow.  "No  such  pledge  of  secrecy,  however  solemn,  could 
justify  a  man  in  keeping  silence  under  such  circum 
stances." 

"Now  I  call  that  frankly  immoral,"  said  Caron.  "If  a 
man  has  promised  to  hold  his  tongue  he  ought  to  hold  it, 
and  you  Christians  should  be  the  last  persons  to  blame  him. 
Don't  all  your  doctrines  teach  the  sin  of  doing  evil  that 
good  may  come  ?  A  promise  is  a  moral  obligation,  and  you 
are  no  more  entitled  to  break  it  to  save  another  man 's  life 
than  to  save  your  own." 

"Logical,"  said  Mr.  Carminow:  "all  the  same,  if  I  were 
ever  in  such  a  horrible  dilemma  I  should  prefer  to  risk  my 
soul  for  the  sake  of  an  innocent  man.  Whoso  loseth  his  life 
shall  find  it." 

"Who  talks  about  risking  one's  soul?"  Caron  retorted 
scornfully.  "My  priest  wouldn't  care  twopence  whether 
he  were  damned  or  the  other  thing — all  he'd  think  of  would 
be  the  eternal  Yea  and  Nay.  He'd  argue  like  this:  sin  is 
wrong,  and  God  is  all-powerful,  and  if  God  wanted  this 
innocent  man 's  life  saved  He  could  do  it  without  my  sin : 
so  I'll  have  faith  and  hold  my  tongue." 

"And  Charles  and  I'd  go  to  the  wall,"  said  Dodo.  "Your 


182  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

priest  is  a  saint,  Car;  but  saints  like  that  inflict  horrible 
suffering. ' ' 

11 A  saint?  I  am  not  sure,"  said  Mr.  Carminow.  "In 
the  first  place  he  would  have  to  be  very  sure  of  his  own 
motives:  one  grain  of  the  fear  of  hell  would  be  enough  to 
damn  him.  And  what  man  could  be  sure " 

"It's  impossible  to  read  while  you're  all  talking,"  said 
Boden. 

He  sprang  up,  threw  down  his  book,  and  went  out 
through  the  tall  window  into  the  garden,  leaving  them  all 
astonished.  Mr.  Carminow  half  rose,  then  sat  down  again. 
Dodo  turned  round  and  gazed  after  her  brother,  whose  low 
hurried  accents  were  as  strange  to  her  ear  as  the  roughness 
of  his  words.  Violet  Carew  sat  arrested,  needle  in  hand, 
with  a  curious  startled  look. 

"The  boy's  nerves  are  out  of  order,"  said  Mr.  Carminow 
gravely.  "I  never  knew  Roddy  to  say  a  rude  thing 
before. ' ' 

"He  is  sleeping  badly,"  said  Caron. 

"That  is  it,  then;  insomnia  will  make  the  sweetest-tem 
pered  fellow  irritable.  After  all,"  added  Mr.  Carminow 
with  a  faint  smile, ' '  it  was  merely  in  the  family,  for  neither 
Mrs.  Carew  nor  our  dear  Grace  was  guilty  of  contributing 
to  the  conversation.  But  really  we  shall  have  to  get  him 
away.  I  can't  have  Roddy  growing  pert  to  me  at  my  time 
of  life.  I'm  used  to  it  from  some  of  my  sons,  but  this  is  a 
new  departure." 

' '  We  shall  all  go  after  to-morrow, ' '  said  Dodo.  ' '  There  '11 
be  nothing  to  stay  for. ' ' 

Her  words  produced  a  momentary  silence,  in  the  middle 
of  which  Grace  Trevor  stuck  her  needles  through  her  tie, 
replaced  it  in  her  work-bag,  and  silently  followed  Roden  out 
on  the  terrace.  She  knew  perfectly  well  that  Caron  would 
find  spirit  enough  to  grin  intelligently,  and  that  Mr.  Car 
minow  would  be  vexed;  but  at  that  moment  she  cared 
nothing  for  the  opinion  of  her  world,  being  altogether 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  188 

driven  by  the  strong  wish  to  attempt  some  form  of  conso 
lation.  She  came  out  into  the  wild  fury  of  the  blast;  its 
piercing  coldness  struck  on  her  bare  arms  and  throat,  but 
Grace  was  hardy  and  cared  little  for  that.  When  her  eyes 
grew  used  to  the  comparative  darkness,  she  made  out 
Roden  standing  with  arms  folded  on  the  high  stone  balus 
trade.  He  did  not  hear  her,  he  did  not  see  her,  and  the  first 
intimation  of  her  presence  came  to  him  when  she  linked 
her  arm  through  his.  Even  then  he  scarcely  stirred,  and 
made  no  effort  to  conceal  his  misery.  Grace  felt  a  hand 
catch  at  her  heart.  She  threw  an  arm  round  his  neck.  They 
had  known  each  other  since  the  days  of  corals  and  peram 
bulators,  and  it  was  Roden 's  oldest  friend  and  all  but  sister 
who  came  to  him  in  his  sore  need.  "Dear  old  fellow,"  said 
Grace  softly,  "what  is  it?" 

"Nothing." 

"You  were  awfully  fond  of  Auburn,  I  know."  Roden 
made  a  sound  of  distress.  "Did  it  upset  you,  seeing  him 
this  evening?  Dodo  said  you  went  into  the  cell." 

"I  was  only  in  a  second." 

"Did  he  look  very  bad?" 

"Yes — no:  it  depends  what  you  call  bad.  He  was  cool 
enough,  except  his  eyes." 

"Poor  old  Charles,"  said  Grace  sorrowfully.  She  was 
feeling  her  way  in  the  dark,  uncertain  of  the  exact  source 
of  Roden 's  grief,  and  still  more  uncertain  how  far  he  would 
support  her  interference.  She  need  not  have  been  afraid, 
for  Roden  had  come  to  that  pass  when  any  companionship 
is  a  relief,  and  when  the  grasp  of  a  friendly  hand  seems  to 
be  the  one  thing  stable  amid  the  chances  and  changes  of 
life.  "It'll  be  better  when  to-morrow's  over,"  she  said, 
out  of  the  depths  of  a  considerable  experience.  "This  wait 
ing's  enough  to  kill  any  one.  But  when  once  the  wrench  is 
over,  we  shall  begin  to  pick  ourselves  up  again.  Because 
the  world  must  go  on,  Roddy.  We  can't  all  die." 

"No." 


184  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

"You'll  have  to  go  back  to  your  regiment  in  a  few  weeks, 
I  suppose?" 

"I  suppose  so." 

"What  an  awful  crash  it  all  is!  I'm  not  trying  to  make 
light  of  it,  you  know :  only — good  times  and  bad  times  and 
all  times  pass  over.  This  is  the  very  darkest  time  of  all. 
We've  got  to  buck  up  and  get  through  it  somehow,  old  boy, 
for  Dodo's  sake:  she's  rather  dependent  on  you  just  now." 
Grace  found  it  hard  to  search  for  consolation  without  well 
knowing  what  pain  it  was  she  had  to  comfort.  "You  can 
do  more  for  her  than  any  one  else,  she's  so  awfully  fond  of 
you,  and  she  trusts  you  so " 

"Oh  don't — don't,  dear,"  said  Roden  under  his  breath. 

The  moon  came  out  of  the  clouds  at  that  moment,  and 
Grace  saw  his  face.  She  held  her  peace,  terror-stricken. 
Then  Roden  dropped  his  head  on  his  arms,  and  Grace,  the 
first  shock  of  dismay  over,  tightened  the  clasp  of  her  arm 
round  his  neck,  and  laid  down  her  head  on  his  shoulder. 

"Roddy,  Roddy,"  she  said,  weeping,  "don't  look  like 
that!  It's  not  your  fault,  anyhow — you  can't  help  it  I 
Dear  old  boy,  I  can't  bear  to  see  you  so  wretched!" 

Bitter-sweet  was  the  cup  that  Grace  was  drinking.  The 
raving  confusion  of  the  wind,  the  cloud-shadows  that  went 
sailing  in  ragged  blots  over  flagged  terrace  and  beaded 
lawn,  even  the  stinging  chill  of  a  sudden  little  fall  of  rain — 
all  this  storm-scene  in  black  and  grey  was,  for  her,  only  the 
setting  that  framed  the  most  intimate  and  tender  moment 
her  life  had  ever  known.  That  her  sympathy  did  Roden 
good  was  plain  when  at  length  he  raised  his  head  and  smiled 
at  her  with  eyes  weary  and  infinitely  sad,  but  calm. 

"Did  I  scare  you,  old  Grace?  I'm  sorry!  There's 
nothing  to  be  scared  about.  I've — I've  had  an  awful  time 
to-day,  what  with  Dodo  and  one  thing  and  another.  But  as 
you  say,  the  thing's  inevitable,  so  we  must  pull  ourselves 
together  and  face  it.  What  a  brute  I  am  to  have  kept  you 
out  here  in  the  cold — By  Jove !  what 's  the  row  about  ? ' ' 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  185 

An  electric  bell  had  rung  out  suddenly  loud  and  long, 
and  so  close  in  their  ear  that  it  made  them  both  start. 
Looking  up,  they  saw  that  a  small  window  stood  open  near 
the  tall  window  that  opened  into  the  hall.  "Oh,  it's  only 
the  telephone,"  said  Grace,  "that's  the  telephone  room,  you 
know,  in  there " 

The  words  died  away  in  her  throat  as  she  met  Roden's 
eyes.  "Who  on  earth  can  be  ringing  us  up  at  this  time  of 
night  ? ' '  he  said,  stammering  over  the  words.  ' '  Let 's  go  in 
and — and  see  who  it  is.  ...  Why  on  earth  doesn't  some 
one  go?" 

Grace  followed  him  into  the  hall — an  odd  scene,  on  such, 
trivial  grounds.  Mr.  Carminow  was  standing  up,  still 
grasping  his  paper.  Caron  lay  back  on  his  cushions,  lividly 
pale.  Dodo,  beaten  from  her  self-control,  had  slipped  down 
on  a  chair  and  looked  as  if  she  were  about  to  faint.  Mean 
while  the  bell  had  never  left  off  ringing.  At  the  same 
moment  Roland  came  out  of  the  drawing-room.  "Who— 
who's  that?"  he  asked. 

"Good  heavens!"  said  Roden,  "look  at  the  child!  My 
darling,  there  isn't  an  atom  of  hope !" 

"No,  no,"  said  Violet  Carew  quickly,  "don't  talk  to 
her — go  and  see  who  it  is. ' ' 

Her  words  were  half  drowned  in  the  sharp  iterated  ting 
ling  of  the  bell.  Roden  made  three  steps  of  it  to  the  tele 
phone  room  and  caught  up  the  receiver,  leaving  the  door 
wide  open,  so  that  every  word  he  said  was  audible  to  all. 

"Hullo  .  .  .  yes  ...  I'm  here  .  .  .  Yes,  it's  Car 
minow.  Who  are  you?  .  .  .  What?  I  can't  hear  .  .  » 
Can't  hear.  I  want  to  know  who  you  are,  first.  .  .  .  Oh! 
All  right,  go  on  ...  Yes,  we're  all  here — we're  waiting 
.  .  .  Yes,  all  of  us  ...  Yes,  my  sister  too  .  .  .  Go  awayf 
No,  I'm  certain  she  won't!  You  needn't  be  afraid,  we're 
resigned  to  anything.  Let  us  have  the  worst  .  .  .  Oh, 
very  well."  He  lowered  the  receiver  and  turned  round, 
looking  at  Dodo.  "It's  Maine  with  some  news  for  us." 


186  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

"Has  he  killed  himself?"  said  Dodo. 

"Are  you  there?  .  .  .  Yes,  I've  warned  her:  will  you 
go  on  ?  I  tell  you  nothing  could  be  worse  than  this  hell  of 
suspense.  .  .  .  What  ?  Are  you  sure  ?  ...  Is  it — is  there 
no  mistake?  ..." 

Grace  touched  his  arm.    "Roden,  you're  killing  Dodo." 

"It  is  a  reprieve,"  said  Roden.  "Maine  has  just  had  a 
wire  from  the  Home  Office." 

"A  reprieve?" 

"The  sentence  is  commuted  to  penal  servitude  for  life." 

' l  Stop  a  moment,  Roddy, ' '  said  Grace  Trevor. 

She  ran  and  caught  Dodo  in  her  arms.  Dodo  had  broken 
down  into  frightful  convulsive  sobbing,  into  the  tears  that 
disfigure  and  unnerve ;  but  she  fought  hard  for  composure, 
and  was  soon  quiet  enough  to  raise  her  head,  from  which  all 
semblance  of  youth  and  beauty  had  vanished,  and  bid  Roden 
go  on.  He  did  so,  repeating  sentence  by  sentence  the 
infinitesimal  whisper  that  crept  to  him  over  the  electric 
wires. 

"They  wired  to  Hillingdon  before  they  wired  to  Maine. 
Auburn  was  to  be  told  instantly.  Probably  he  knows  by 
now.  Major  "White  would  go  to  him  in  prison.  .  .  .  Maine 
says  it  is  a  most  extraordinary  case.  He  has  never  known 
a  reprieve  left  so  late.  ...  It  was  Dymock  who  did  it.  He 
became  conscious  this  morning,  and  Mrs.  Dymock  spoke  to 
him  about  it.  Then  he  made  her  telephone  to  the  Home 
Office,  and  old  Hardyng  himself  came  round  in  his  car  and 
saw  him.  He  was  very  weak  but  quite  clear-headed,  and  he 
was  strongly  in  favor  of  a  reprieve.  ...  It  seemed 
Hardyng  had  been  wavering,  and  this  knocked  him  clean 
off  his  pins  .  .  .  gave  him  a  pretext  .  .  .  He  didn't  want 
the  Opposition  to  say  he  gave  in  to  popular  clamor.  .  .  . 
Maine  pumped  all  this  out  of  one  of  Hardyng 's  secre 
taries.  .  .  .  Nobody  seems  to  know  exactly  what  made 
Dymock  alter  his  mind.  .  .  .  Hardyng  only  had  a  few 
minutes  with  him.  .  .  .  Maine  says  he's  sending  congratu- 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  187 

lations  to  Auburn,  and  if  we've  any  message  shall  he  add 
it?  He  thinks  the  prison  officials  will  put  it  through." 

There  was  no  reply.  Roden  looked  round :  the  aspect  of 
his  audience  brought  a  sudden  nervous  laugh  to  his  lips. 

"Shall  I  say  you're  all  rather  sorry?"  he  asked.  "You 
look  it" 

"I — I  can't  realize  it,"  said  Mr.  Carminow,  brushing  his 
hand  over  his  forehead.  "We — we've  been  so  close  to  the 
edge " 

Caron  struck  in  with  his  characteristic  harsh  irony. 
"Does  Maine  propose  to  congratulate  him  on  being  sent  to 
penal  servitude  for  life?  By  the  Lord,  I  think  apologies 
ought  to  be  the  order  of  the  day. ' ' 

"No,  no!"  said  Dodo. 

She  sprang  up,  came  to  Boden,  and  took  the  receiver  from 
his  hand. 

"Are  you  there,  Mr.  Maine?  .  .  .  Roden  says  you're 
writing  to  Charles  .  .  .  thank  you.  Will  you  write  these 
words,  then — just  this  and  nothing  morel  You  have  a 
pencil!  .  .  . 

"Mr  DEAR  CHARLES, — It  will  probably  not  be  more  than 
twenty  years.  I  will  wait,  if  you  will. — Always  yours, 

DODO." 


XX. 


AS  Maine  had  told  Roden,  it  was  the  jail  governor  him 
self  who  conveyed  to  Auburn  the  news  of  the  re 
prieve.  When  the  tall  soldierly  figure  came  in,  Auburn  was 
still  sitting  at  the  table;  he  had  not  lifted  his  head  since 
Dodo's  departure,  five  hours  before.  Major  White  came  to 
the  point  at  once,  without  beating  about  the  bush.  Having 
risen  at  his  entrance,  Auburn  remained  standing :  he  said 
nothing,  till  the  Governor,  a  kindly  man,  asked  him  if  he 
felt  ill.  At  that  Auburn  pulled  himself  together  to  utter  a 
few  words  of  thanks,  and  Major  White,  himself  intensely 
relieved,  withdrew.  An  hour  later  Auburn  was  taken  from 
the  condemned  cell,  and  placed  alone  in  a  different  part  of 
the  prison. 

Except  for  a  glimpse  of  his  solicitor,  Auburn  had  no 
further  intercourse  with  the  outer  world.  A  few  days  later 
he  was  awakened  early  in  the  morning  by  a  warder  coming 
into  his  cell,  who  told  him  to  get  up  and  dress  at  once.  He 
did  so,  and  in  twenty  minutes'  time  his  breakfast  was 
brought  to  him — eight  ounces  of  bread,  half  an  ounce  of 
margarine,  and  a  pint  of  porridge.  It  was  half-past  six  on 
a  clammy  November  morning  when  he  left  Hillingdon  jail, 
handcuffed  and  under  escort  of  two  warders,  one  of  whom 
sat  beside  him  in  the  fly,  and  the  other  on  the  box. 

They  had  some  time  to  wait  at  the  station.  Auburn  stood 
on  the  platform  in  a  drizzle  of  rain,  while  the  gas-jets,  pal 
ing  in  that  dreariest  of  twilights  which  precedes  a  wet 
winter's  dawn,  flared  over  the  soiled  yet  staring  advertise 
ments,  the  grinning  monkey  who  won't  wash  clothes,  the 
buxom  young  woman  with  a  cigarette  between  her  teeth. 

188 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  189 

Auburn  wished  he  could  have  had  a  cigarette  himself.  Used 
to  smoke  at  all  hours,  he  found  the  longing  for  tobacco 
harder  to  bear  even  than  the  pangs  of  hunger,  which  played 
a  prosaic  but  important  part  in  his  discomfort. 

By  and  by  the  train  came  in,  and  habit  directed  his  steps 
towards  a  first-class  compartment.  Felons  do  not,  however, 
travel  first-class,  and  assistant-warder  Mackinnon,  with 
something  like  a  faint  grin  discernible  on  his  weather-beaten 
countenance,  put  his  charge  into  an  empty  third.  He  and 
his  chief  sat  down — the  one  by  Auburn's  side,  the  other 
opposite — and  the  door  was  locked  upon  them. 

Icy  fogs  of  dawn  under  the  gloomy  arch  of  a  London 
station:  interminable  platforms  to  be  crossed,  prisoner's 
right  wrist  linked  to  the  left  wrist  of  Principal  Warder 
Brown,  while  drowsy  porters  grinned  apathetically,  and 
travelers,  less  inured  to  the  spectacle,  turned  round  to  stare 
after  the  prison  uniforms.  When  they  were  in  their  seats, 
quite  a  knot  of  observers  gathered  at  the  train  door,  till 
Brown,  compassionating  Auburn's  silent  endurance,  pulled 
down  the  blinds,  to  be  lightly  thanked  for  his  good-nature. 
Like  most  of  his  class  with  whom  the  prisoner  then  or  later 
came  in  contact,  he  had  a  fine  face,  manly,  intelligent,  and 
kind. 

This  second  train  journey  was  short.  Alighting,  Auburn 
was  marched  out  into  the  station  yard,  where  he  had  to  wait 
a  few  minutes :  here  there  was  no  blind  to  be  pulled  down, 
and  he  was  hard  put  to  it  to  keep  his  countenance  under  a 
running  fire  of  comment  from  a  sympathetic  crowd.  At 
length  Mackinnon  arrived  with  a  four-wheeler,  and  all  three 
got  in,  and  were  driven  off  through  the  mean  streets  of  a 
slum  suburb.  Auburn  had  held  his  tongue  all  the  way  up 
in  the  train,  a  thing  he  never  liked  doing :  now  he  turned 
on  his  escort  with  a  question — "Where  are  you  taking  me?" 

Brown  hesitated,  and  it  dawned  upon  Auburn  that  he 
was  not  used  to  be  spoken  to  so  freely.  But  he  gave  the 
name  of  the  prison  in  a  perfectly  civil  tone,  though  with 


190  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

an  assumption  of  equality  which  was  not  the  less  annoying 
because  evidently  unconscious. 

4 'How  long  shall  I  be  there?" 

"That's  for  the  Governor  to  say,  I  expect." 

"Is  it  a  decent  place?  I  mean "  Auburn  realized 

that  the  terms  of  his  question  stood  in  some  need  of  amend 
ment — "is  the  food  good,  and  so  forth?" 

' '  Good  enough,  I  reckon.  Prison  life  is  pretty  much  what 
you  make  it  yourself ;  if  you  keep  out  o'  trouble  and  behave 
properly,  you  won't  find  it  come  so  hard.  'Course,  if  you 
give  us  trouble,  we  're  bound  to  give  you  trouble. ' ' 

"Is  the  work  hard?" 

The  man  looked  at  him  with  a  good-natured  smile.  "That 
depends  on  what  you're  used  to.  It's  Trade  Union  time — 
eight  hours  a  day." 

"What  do  you  do  with  yourself — I  mean,  what  do  we  do 
with  ourselves — the  rest  of  the  day?"  Auburn  asked,  his 
curiosity  beginning  to  wake  up.  Viewed  afar  off,  twenty 
years  is  twenty  years,  but  seen  near  at  hand  it  is  twenty 
times  three  hundred  and  sixty  five  days,  of  which  the  first  is 
to-morrow.  "Surely  I  shan't  have  to  stick  in  my  cell  the 
whole  time?" 

"Your  work's  done  in  your  cell,"  Brown  answered. 
"You  won't  be  out  of  it  at  all,  except  for  an  hour's  exer 
cise.  That's  what  they  call  solitary  confinement,  that  is." 

"How  long  does  it  last?"  asked  Auburn  after  a  silence. 

"Five  months:  but  you  won't  be  here  all  that  time. 
You'll  finish  your  time  in  Portland  or  Princetown,  most 
likely — I  don't  know  which,  and  I  couldn't  tell  you  if  I 
did." 

"They've  all  got  to  begin  like  that,"  Mackinnon  joined 
in,  still  with  those  faint  remains  of  a  grin,  as  if  he  found 
Auburn  no  end  of  a  good  joke.  "Used  to  be  nine  months, 
but  they  had  to  knock  off  a  spell,  because " 

"Here  we  are,"  said  Brown  sharply,  cutting  short  his 
subordinate:  but  Auburn's  own  imagination  found  it  not 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  191 

hard  to  fill  up  the  gap.  The  cab  was  rolling  between  iron 
gates,  which  were  at  once  relocked  behind  it,  and  over  the 
cobbles  of  a  wide  square  yard.  All  three  got  out,  and 
Brown  took  off  Auburn's  handcuffs,  no  longer  needed:  he 
was  inside  the  precincts  of  the  prison.  He  looked  about 
him  with  interest. 

Behind  lay  the  iron  gates,  and  beyond  them  the  street 
with  its  mire  and  drizzle  of  rain,  its  frowsy  shops  and 
constant  stream  of  low  life.  On  either  side  of  the  yard  rose 
a  block  of  dwelling-houses,  the  residence  of  various  jail 
officials,  and  between  them  stood  the  inner  gateway  of  the 
jail,  having  immense  doors  sheeted  with  iron,  and  an  em 
battled  front  clear-cut  against  the  frowning  sky.  It  dated 
from  the  middle  of  the  nineteenth  century,  but  the  architect 
had  had  an  eye  to  the  picturesque — or  was  it  only  a  vagrant 
sense  of  humor?  Grim  as  any  robber  keep  rose  up  the 
fortress-front  of  the  jail. 

A  small  wicket  gate  was  thrown  open  in  the  middle  of  the 
iron  portals,  and  the  figure  of  a  man  in  uniform  appeared 
behind  it,  framed  to  the  knees.  Some  sort  of  formality  was 
gone  through  by  the  principal  warder.  Mackinnon  mean 
while  stood  on  guard,  and  Auburn  chafed  under  his  placid 
surveillance.  What  did  they  expect  of  him?  Some  wild, 
mad  dash  for  liberty?  At  a  word  he  passed  the  second 
gateway,  to  find  himself  in  an  inner  court  of  turf,  within 
which  rose  the  irregular  mass  of  the  actual  prison  buildings, 
of  a  type  of  architecture  eminently  practical  and  common 
place.  What  did  Auburn  see,  looking  round?  Only  the 
sooty  rain  coming  down  out  of  the  sooty  London  sky:  the 
immense  line  of  the  second  wall,  thirty  feet  high  and  slop 
ing  inwards:  the  great  blocks  of  prison  buildings,  pierced 
with  many,  many  rows  of  windows,  little  and  narrow  and 
barred.  One  of  those  windows  belonged  to  the  cell  where 
he  was  to  pass  the  next  five  months,  day  and  night,  except 
for  an  hour's  daily  exercise  in  the  open  air — so-called — 
under  the  shadow  of  that  great  brick  barricade. 


192  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

Brown  had  stopped  to  speak  to  the  porter.  Auburn  heard 
the  wicket-gate  close,  not  with  the  hollow  clang  of  imagi 
nation,  but  quickly,  lightly,  firmly.  It  was  the  gate,  not 
of  a  prison,  but  of  Prison:  a  gate  that  never  would  open 
again  for  him  till  twenty  years  had  come  and  gone,  till 
vigorous  manhood  was  changed  into  broken  middle  age. 
The  odds  were,  in  fact,  that  he  would  die  behind  its  bars. 

" Nasty  mornin',"  said  Brown  to  his  crony  at  the  gate. 
"How's  the  missus  to-day?" 

"Nicely,  thankye.    Baby's  doin'  well  too." 

"Good  job  it 'sail ILel-lo!" 

Though  there  were  three  present,  he  blew  his  whistle 
before  he  closed  with  Auburn.  Mackinnon  was  lying  on 
the  ground  insensible.  Auburn  had  drawn  back  and  set 
his  back  against  the  brickwork :  his  face  was  distorted,  and 
there  was  blood  on  his  mouth.  Brown  threw  himself  upon 
him,  to  be  met  with  that  terrible  drive  from  the  shoulder 
which  Auburn  had  learned  at  King's.  Brown  reeled  back 
and  stood  off  a  pace  or  two.  ' '  Come, ' '  he  said,  ' '  what 's  the 
good  ?  You  can 't  fight  us,  you  know. ' ' 

"Can't  I?" 

"Look  round  you  a  bit.    Is  it  any  good?" 

From  all  directions  men  in  uniform  were  pouring  out  into 
the  yard,  summoned  by  that  warning  whistle.  "I  shall 
have  to  draw  my  sword  on  you,"  said  Brown  in  coaxing 
tones.  "Now  don't  you  be  a  fool!  You'll  only  make  it 
worse " 

"Floreat  Etona!"  cried  Auburn,  with  a  burst  of 
laughter. 

Simultaneously  they  were  all  on  him  at  once,  striking 
at  him  with  the  flat  of  the  sword  or  with  their  batons  or 
clubbed  sticks.  He  was  unarmed,  till  one  of  the  smaller 
men  coming  in  too  close  gave  him  his  chance,  and  reckless 
of  the  blows  that  rained  on  head  and  shoulders,  Auburn 
caught  the  man  by  the  wrist,  bent  his  arm  back,  and  twisted 
the  heavy  club  out  of  his  hand.  After  that  the  fight  waxed 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  193 

furious.  His  height  and  powerful  physique  alone  would 
not  have  enabled  him  to  prolong  such  a  contest,  but  he  was 
really  mad  for  the  time  being.  If  there  was  any  thought  in 
his  mind  at  all  beyond  the  blind  lust  of  fighting,  it  was  a 
hope,  as  blind,  that  one  of  those  blades  that  were  flashing 
round  him  might  sheathe  itself  by  lucky  chance  in  heart  or 
brain,  and  so  end  it  all  for  ever.  He  was  dragged  away 
from  the  wall  and  thrown  down,  fingers  locked  round  his 
throat,  a  man's  knee  on  his  chest — up  again  with  half  a 
dozen  on  him  at  once,  his  clothes  in  rags,  his  stick  broken, 
suffocated,  blinded,  the  blood  raining  down  over  his  eyes — 
down  once  more,  and  this  time  not  able  to  rise. 

' '  Good  Lord ! ' '  said  Brown  slowly.  "  Good  Lord ! "  He 
picked  himself  up,  limb  by  limb,  dusting  his  trouser  knees 
with  a  hand  which  shook  from  the  violence  of  his  exertions. 
"Good  Lord!"  he  said  once  again,  as  he  looked  over  the 
field  of  battle,  "who'd  ever  have  thought  it?" 

"That's  your  quiet  man!"  said  Mackinnon,  sitting  up 
and  rubbing  his  head : ' '  that 's  your  fancy  prisoners !  That 's 
what  comes  o'  bein'  deceived  by  their  artfulness!" 

"Here's  Barstow  with  a  broken  arm,  an'  Mackinnon  with 
a  broken  head,  an'  Smith,  an'  Hughes,  an'  Hewett  all  cut 
about  like  so  many  wounded  soldiers — good  Lord,  I  wonder 
what  the  Governor '11  say  to  this  little  job?" 

"I'd  like  to  break  'is  'ead,"  said  Mackinnon,  standing 
and  looking  down  on  his  prostrate  foe.  Auburn  lay  as 
dead — his  clothes  in  rags,  the  blood  running  from  a  gash 
across  his  forehead.  "A  taste  o'  the  cat  is  what  'e  wants, 
to  cool  'is  'eated  temper. ' '  But  there  was  a  touch  of  grudg 
ing  admiration  in  his  tone  all  the  same,  and  it  was  with  no 
ungentle  hand  that  he  helped  to  lift  the  insensible  form. 

"Best  carry  him  round  to  the  hospital  ward  direct," 
Brown  said  shortly.  "He'll  want  a  bit  of  stickin'  plaster, 
I  fancy." 

Thanks  to  the  fact  that  prison  warders  fight  to  overpower 


194  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

and  not  to  injure,  Auburn's  hurts  proved  to  consist  mainly 
of  bruises,  and  he  was  not  detained  in  the  infirmary.  Later 
that  same  day  he  entered  his  cell  for  the  first  time.  He 
had  undergone  his  medical  examination,  taken  his  bath, 
changed  into  prison  clothes,  and  received  a  short  and  sharp 
lecture  from  the  Governor  (his  punishment  had  to  be  left 
to  the  decision  of  the  Visiting  Magistrates) :  his  hair  was 
cropped,  in  accordance  with  prison  regulations,  to  one- 
sixteenth  of  an  inch:  and  what  with  that,  and  the  dress, 
and  his  bandaged  head,  there  was  little  enough  left  of  the 
original  Charles  Auburn. 

His  cell  was  a  fair-sized  apartment,  warm,  well  venti 
lated,  and  scrupulously  clean.  The  small,  barred  window 
was  not  only  set  so  high  that  he  could  not  look  out  of  it,  but 
filled  with  ground  glass,  which  made  a  blank  even  of  the 
sky.  A  plank  bedstead,  measuring  six  feet  by  three,  stood 
tilted  up  on  end  against  the  wall.  Mattress  and  blankets 
were  rolled  up  on  the  floor  beside  it.  In  opposite  corners 
were  fixed  a  couple  of  brackets,  the  one  bearing  a  tin  mug 
without  a  handle  and  a  tin  plate,  the  other  a  brush  and 
comb,  a  Bible,  and  a  tooth-brush.  A  tin  washing  jug  and 
basin,  standing  on  the  floor,  and  a  plain  wooden  stool  com 
pleted  the  furniture.  Outside  the  cell  door  hung  a  card, 
recording  the  prisoner's  number,  and  the  daily  tale  of 
marks  by  which  he  was  to  earn — or  forfeit — remission  of  so 
many  days  of  prison.  Given  his  choice  of  three  religions, 
Auburn  had  elected  for  Dodo's  faith  in  preference  to  the 
Roman  Catholic  or  Jewish  creed,  and  the  card  was  there 
fore  not  red  nor  green,  but  white. 

In  the  door  itself,  at  the  level  of  a  man's  eye,  there  was  a 
small  round  hole  filled  with  talc  and  covered  with  a  mov 
able  iron  flap.  Through  this  the  prisoner  was  kept  under 
frequent  observation  day  and  night. 

Just  then  Auburn  did  not  care  whether  he  was  observed 
or  no.  He  threw  himself  down  on  the  floor  and  lay  still. 
He  felt  as  if  every  sinew  in  his  body  had  been  cut.  His 


head  throbbed  as  if  hammers  were  going  in  his  temples,  and 
the  taste  of  blood  was  in  his  mouth :  his  throat  was  dry,  his 
hands  were  burning  hot.  He  would  have  given  anything  for 
a  drink  of  water.  He  could  not  control  his  thoughts,  and 
by  and  by  he  heard  himself  beginning  to  moan  aloud,  and 
to  utter  names — the  names  of  those  he  loved — mixed  with 
broken  sentences.  Then  the  fear  of  madness  came  upon 
him,  and  he  tried  to  raise  himself,  leaning  on  one  hand, 
trembling,  and  wet  with  cold  dews  of  terror. 

It  was  just  then  that  the  door  was  unlocked  to  admit  a 
visitor.  He  came  in  with  a  hesitating  step,  as  if  uncertain 
of  his  welcome :  a  small,  brown  man  in  clerical  dress,  with 
blue  eyes  deeply  set  under  dark  eyebrows.  Hugh  Eose, 
generally  known  as  the  Padre,  suffered  from  a  chronic  in 
firmity  of  the  flesh :  he  was — after  his  own  peculiar 
fashion — an  abject  coward.  Being  a  faithful  disciple  of 
his  Master,  he  was  bound  to  trample  this  weakness  under- 
foot,  and  in  so  doing  he  was  sometimes  led  far  along  the 
path  of  rash  and  reckless  bravery.  He  had  heard  of 
Auburn 's  morning  exploit,  and  had  determined  on  the  spot 
that  it  was  his  duty  to  go  and  see  this  desperate  criminal. 
It  was  with  much  inward  shrinking  that  he  whipped  him 
self  up  to  the  threshold  of  Auburn's  cell:  but  as  soon  as 
the  door  was  opened  he  forgot  his  frailty.  He  knelt  down 
on  the  floor  and  put  his  arm  round  Auburn.  "Lie  back," 
he  said,  "my  poor  fellow,  you're  ill!" 

"Water,"  said  Auburn  faintly.  Eose  filled  the  tin  mug 
and  held  it  to  his  lips,  but  Auburn  had  only  drunk  a  few 
drops  when  he  pushed  it  away  and  sat  up,  dizzy  and  flushed 
with  a  sudden  heat  of  fever.  "I  feel  so  frightfully  sick," 
he  said,  putting  his  hand  to  his  throat.  Almost  as  soon  as 
he  spoke  a  violent  spasm  of  sickness  came  on  him,  probably 
the  best  thing  that  could  have  happened,  but  a  disconcerting 
experience  for  one  who  had  never  known  a  day's  illness 
since  childhood.  It  brought  his  senses  and  his  self-control 
back,  however:  he  lay  back  spent,  but  with  clear  brain. 


196  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

"You  ought  to  be  in  hospital,"  Rose  exclaimed. 

"Oh  no,"  Auburn  answered  languidly.  "My  own  fault, 
you  see.  That  would  be  putting  a  premium  on  mutiny. 
Besides,  I'm  not  hurt — only  bruised  a  bit.  There's  no 
physical  harm  done. ' ' 

Rose  laid  a  finger  on  the  wrist,  and  was  reassured. 
"Then  your  malady  is  of  the  mind,"  he  said.  "What's 
wrong  ? ' ' 

"Nothing.  I'm  all  right  now — thanks  very  much,  by 
the  bye." 

"What  made  you  go  for  those  men  this  morning?  They 
are  good  fellows  enough,  and  it 's  not  their  fault  that  you  're 
here." 

' '  Oh,  heavens,  no !    Do  you  think  I  meant  to  do  it  ? " 

' '  I  see — it  was  a  temporary  madness.  I  hope  you  won 't 
give  us  any  more  of  it." 

"So  do  I,"  said  Auburn,  smiling  queerly. 

"Nothing  will  do  you  any  good,  except  to  submit  with 
what  patience  you  may.  It  is  always  hard  upon  the  edu 
cated  men,  this  system — especially  the  first  months  of  it. 
But  the  pricks  won 't  be  unendurable  unless  you  kick  against 
them." 

"I  haven't  got  a  kick  left  in  me,"  Auburn  said  candidly, 
"really,  I  haven't!" 

"No,  you  look  pretty  well  worn  out.  But  when  you  get 
over  this,  what  is  to  come?  Are  you  going  to  be  defiant, 
sullen,  moody,  giving  and  getting  the  maximum  of  trouble  ? 
Or  are  you  going  to  set  yourself  to  bear,  in  a  manly,  un 
complaining  spirit,  what  is,  after  all,  only  the  consequence 
of  your  own  crime?" 

"My  crime?    What  crime?" 

"The  crime  which  has  brought  you  here,"  Hugh  Rose 
said,  staring  at  him  in  wonder. 

Auburn  stared  back  for  a  moment,  and  then  laughed 
outright. 

"By  Jove,  I'd  clean  forgotten!    Of  course — I  murdered 


AN    ORDEAL    OF   HONOR  197 

Sir  Charles,  didn't  If  No  wonder  you  look  upon  me  as  a 
desperate  character!" 

The  queerest  cold  thrill,  like  icy  water,  went  down  Hugh 
Rose 's  spine  as  he  listened  to  those  simple  words.  The  most 
passionate  asservations,  the  humblest  pleadings,  would  not 
have  had  one-tenth  part  so  much  weight  with  this  keen  and 
astute  student  of  human  nature.  He  received  at  that 
moment  an  impression  which  he  scouted  as  ridiculous,  but 
which  never  lost  its  first  grip  on  his  mind — an  impression 
of  cool,  unprejudiced,  unvindictive  innocence,  of  a  man 
borne  down  by  circumstances,  bending  his  head  with  stoical 
calm  to  the  stroke  of  man's  injustice. 

''You  know  best,"  said  Rose  after  a  pause,  "what 
brought  you  here." 

"Do  I?"  said  Auburn,  pondering:  "then  Providence 
must  have  a  remarkably  vague  and  imperfect  knowledge  of 
the  reason,  that's  all  I  can  say." 

"And  it  lies  entirely  with  you  to  decide  how  things  shall 
go  with  you  now  while  you  are  here. ' ' 

"I  shan't — voluntarily — turn  Berserk  any  more,  if  that's 
what  you  mean.  I  don't  want  to  lose  marks  and  forfeit 
my  remission." 

"But  I  thought  yours  was  a  life-sentence!"  Rose 
exclaimed. 

"As  witness  these  armorial  bearings."  Auburn  pointed 
to  the  large  "L,"  signifying  Lifer,  worked  on  his  rough 
sleeve.  "But  it  means  twenty  years,  doesn't  it?" 

"You're  looking  forward  to  your  release?" 

"One's  life  isn't  over  at  fifty-five." 

"Quite  right,"  Rose  said,  calling  himself  sharply  to 
order.  "You  could  not  possibly  take  up  a  more  sensible 
line.  Now  let  me  give  you  a  word  of  advice.  You  're  going 
through  the  hardest  part  of  your  sentence  in  these  next  few 
months :  my  advice  to  you  is,  keep  your  mind  employed.  I 
dare  say  you  have  a  smattering  of  two  or  three  languages  ? 
Improve  and  consolidate  your  knowledge.  Learn  poetry 


198  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

by  heart:  make  out  an  abstract  of  history,  mathematics, 
what  you  will — only  keep  your  brain  employed.  You  will 
not  be  able  to  get  much  out  of  the  library,  but  use  it  as  far 
as  you  can.  Nothing  will  be  so  beneficial  to  you  as  study  ? ' ' 

"You  think  so,  do  you?" 

"I've  seen  it  exemplified  in  a  hundred  cases." 

"Good :  I'll  take  your  advice.  You  ought  to  know  if  any 
man  does:  you've  evidently  had  plenty  of  experience.  I'm 
going  to  live  through  it  if  I  can, ' '  Auburn  continued,  lying 
flat  on  his  back  with  his  arms  clasped  behind  his  head :  "if 
I  can.  You'll  give  me  a  look-in  now  and  then,  won't  you  ? ' ' 

"As  often  as  possible.  Some  day,  when  you  are 
calmer" — Auburn  raised  his  eyebrows:  he  considered  him 
self  tolerably  calm — "you  will,  I  hope,  let  me  talk  to  you 
of  things  that  may  help  you  to  bear  your  punishment  in  a 
better  spirit." 

"Ah!  your  trade?  I  forgot  you  were  a  parson.  What 
do  you  want — to  pray  with  me?" 

"Don't  you  think  you  might  do  worse?" 

"Rather!    It'll  be  quite  exciting — so  novel." 

"Do  you  never  pray?" 

"I'm  afraid  I  don't  know  any  prayers,"  said  Auburn 
with  perfect  gravity.  "Unfortunately  I  was  never  taught 
to  say  them  at  my  mother's  knee,  because  she  died  when  I 
was  six  weeks  old.  But  you  must  teach  me." 

Rose  hated  flippancy:  he  stood  up,  knitting  his  brows, 
and  moved  towards  the  door.  Auburn  looked  after  him 
with  a  painful  contraction  of  the  forehead  and  mouth. 
"Going?"  he  said. 

"I  must  leave  you  now:  yes." 

"Leave  me  in  this  hell? — And  you're  a  good  man — oh 
yes :  I  should  do  the  same  myself,  of  course.  I  've  seen  men 
under  the  surgeon's  knife,  and  it  didn't  affect  my  appetite. 
.  .  .  Excuse  me,  I  think  I  'm  talking  nonsense.  Good-bye, 
and  thanks  so  much  for  coming!" 

"Good-bye,"  said  Rose  gravely.    "You'll  be  better  in  a 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  199 

little  while,  you  know.    It's  only  what  they  all  have  to  go 
through." 
"Yes,  but "  said  Auburn. 


XXI. 

WHEN  Auburn  was  removed  from  Hillingdon,  there 
was  nothing  to  keep  the  Carminows  in  Hampshire, 
and  the  Ferndean  household  broke  up.  Grace  Trevor 
had  taken  herself  and  Mr.  Carminow  back  to  Stanton 
Mere  on  the  day  after  the  reprieve:  Caron  rushed  off  to 
town:  the  Carews  went  yachting  in  the  Mediterranean: 
and  Dodo  gathered  her  courage  up  to  let  Eoden  bring 
her  home. 

Courage:  for  she  dreaded  that  return.  The  intense  suf 
fering  of  one  day  threw  a  shadow  over  her  memories  which 
darkened  all  the  sunshine  of  nineteen  quiet  and  sunny 
years.  She  shrank  from  the  tongues  and  eyea  of  the  vil 
lage,  their  curious  interest,  their  talkative  pity.  Above  all, 
Bhe  was  afraid  of  the  ghosts  who  haunted  every  step  of  that 
familiar  ground — her  lover  with  his  light  swinging  tread 
and  merry  eyes,  and  that  dead  gay  child  at  his  side,  so 
incredibly  reckless,  her  own  old  self. 

One  cannot  live  long  at  such  a  tension  as  had  racked 
Dodo  on  the  night  of  the  reprieve.  After  the  relaxation  of 
the  strain  came  a  kind  of  interregnum,  during  which  the 
spirit  that  sat  in  Dodo's  soul  refused  to  suffer  any  more. 
She  ate  and  slept  and  talked  and  went  about  her  life  at 
Ferndean  with  a  coolness  that  perplexed  all,  except  perhaps 
Eoden  and  Violet.  But  the  reckoning  day  waited  for  her 
at  Stanton  Mere :  there,  as  she  dimly  knew,  she  would  have 
to  take  account  of  herself,  to  review  her  strength,  and  work 
out  the  problem  of  her  future. 

She  was  already  beginning  to  do  so  when  she  stepped 
from  the  train  at  Amesbury,  and  smelt  the  damp  breath  of 

200 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  801 

the  wintry  moorland  air.  Bernard  was  waiting  with  the 
dogcart,  and  she  was  soon  whirling  across  the  Plain,  past 
the  very  place  where  she  had  first  seen  Auburn,  that  June 
evening  so  long  ago.  Mr.  Carminow  was  at  the  door, 
anxious  and  saddened.  "It's  all  right,"  said  Dodo,  trying 
to  laugh  as  he  kissed  her,  "my  hair  hasn't  turned  white, 
darling — not  even  in  a  single  night ! "  In  the  dining-room 
there  was  a  big  fire  burning  on  the  hearth  and  a  cold  sup 
per  laid  out  on  the  table,  which  was  trimmed  with  a  few 
purple  asters,  extremely  winter-starved,  stuck  by  Aline  in 
a  couple  of  squat  red  vases.  They  sat  down  to  supper, 
Dodo's  quick  eyes  taking  in  every  detail  of  the  dusty  furni 
ture,  the  dingy  silver,  the  tough  beef -steak  which  Mr.  Car 
minow  could  not  eat,  the  nameless  sediment  ingrained  at 
the  bottom  of  fastidious  Roden's  tumbler.  They  were  all 
very  gentle  to  her:  all,  that  is,  except  Roden,  who  waa 
fractious,  and  clamored  to  know  why  no  woman  could  ever 
cut  a  decent  slice  of  bread,  for  which  she  was  grateful  to 
him:  it  was  dreadful  to  have  even  Bernard  pitying  her! 
Conscious  that  she  had  of  late  piped  but  melancholy  music 
to  her  patient  family,  she  made  a  good  supper,  and  talked 
and  laughed  over  it:  and  was  rewarded  for  her  pains  by 
seeing  the  light  come  back  to  Mr.  Carminow 's  worn  face, 
and  the  curve  of  humor  to  his  lips.  "Heart-broken  people," 
said  Dodo  to  herself,  "are  tiresome  inmates.  I  must  mend 
my  ways ;  it  is  too  bad  of  me  to  plunge  us  all  in  mourning 
for  a  mere  acquaintance ! ' '  This  was  a  deliberate  exaggera 
tion,  but  had  some  truth  in  it:  no  use  crying  over  spilt 
milk! 

At  last  it  was  bedtime,  and  Mr.  Carminow  ordered  her 
upstairs  to  get  a  good  night 's  rest.  Roden,  tired  and  yawn 
ing,  went  off  at  the  same  time,  and  they  stood  together  on 
the  landing  for  a  moment  while  he  lit  his  candle  from  hers. 
"Good-night,  old  boy,"  said  Dodo. 

"Good-night,  dear,"  said  Roden. 

He  put  his  arm  round  her  and  kissed  her,  and  she  saw 


80S  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

that  his  eyes  were  wet.    ''Oh,  Roddy,  don't!"  said  Dodo, 
startled.    "I'm  all  right,  really!" 

"I  was  thinking  of  Auburn  just  then,"  said  Roden. 

Dodo  was  wondering,  as  she  went  into  her  room,  how  it 
was  that  Roden  always  said  what  she  wanted  some  one  to 
say.  She  locked  the  door,  set  her  candle  on  the  dressing- 
table,  and  looked  about  her.  Unchanged !  No  change  could 
have  seemed  so  strange  as  to  find  it  unchanged :  the  same 
quiet,  fresh,  shabby  little  room  that  she  had  passed  so  many 
quiet  nights  in.  There  were  her  second-best  brushes  on  the 
dressing-table,  her  old  slippers  under  a  chair,  a  score  of 
trifles  that  made  the  days  before  sorrow  came  as  close  as 
yesterday,  and — saddest  of  all ! — the  very  book  that  she  had 
taken  with  her  to  Caesar's  Camp  lying  where  she  had  thrown 
it,  with  a  sprig  of  heather  thrust  in  to  keep  the  place  of  the 
most  beautiful  of  modern  love  songs : 

"Awake  to  be  loved,  my  heart,  awake,  awake  .  .  ." 
Heather  that  Auburn  had  picked  for  her !  She  closed  the 
book  on  all  its  memories  and  thrust  it  away  at  the  back  of 
the  bookcase,  decently  hidden  as  dead  things  should  be. 
That  done,  she  unlocked  her  portmanteau,  took  from  it  a 
square  of  unframed  canvas,  and  sat  down  on  the  broad  sill 
beside  the  open  casement  to  look  at  Roland  Carew's  parting 
present,  and  to  take  counsel  with  her  heart. 

Dodo's  window  gave  over  the  valley,  spangled  near  at 
hand  with  the  lights  of  the  village,  but  reaching  out  beyond 
into  the  dark  distances  of  the  Plain.  It  was  mild  weather, 
and  the  wind  blew  in  upon  her  in  warm  gusts,  sweet  with 
the  breath  of  rain.  Night  had  fallen  on  the  Plain :  a  night 
of  great  clouds,  lying  in  dark  and  grey  strands  alternate  as 
the  moon  fleeted  through  them,  now  quenched,  now  bright 
as  a  pearl,  now  working  through  ripples  of  wrack  that 
gleamed  like  a  pale  surf  crawling  up  a  dark  beach.  By 
that  inconstant  light  Dodo  looked  long  at  Roland's  brilliant 
oanvas.  It  was  a  portrait  of  Auburn,  painted  in  Italy  for 
lov»,  and  rath«r  against  Auburn's  will,  by  Farquhar, 


youngest  of  Academicians,  in  the  days  when  he  still  jeered 
at  the  Academy,  and  the  Academy  at  him.  He  had  fore 
gathered  with  Roland  and  Auburn  on  a  tramp  in  quest  of 
adventure,  and  had  pleaded  a  dozen  times  for  leave  to  record 
Auburn 's  swarthy  features  and  indefinable  look  of  the  half- 
civilized  gipsy,  but  vainly,  till  one  of  Auburn's  fits  of 
immovable  laziness  gave  him  his  chance :  and  the  result  waa 
a  singularly  vivid  piece  of  work,  full  of  humar  and  ani 
mation,  half  sleepy,  half  reckless,  wholly  insincere.  It  took 
Dodo's  breath  away.  "So  it's  you!"  she  thought. 

She  held  the  portrait  at  arm's  length.  "You!  yes,  you, 
in  your  weakness  and  in  your  strength.  So  handsome,  and 
so  very  unmistakably  idle  and  rich,  in  spite  of  that  soft 
shirt  and  that  Latin  Quarter  silk  scarf  which  you  think 
suits  you  so  well !  Vain — they  call  us  vain :  I  wonder  how 
long  you  spent  over  that  bow,  sir  ?  Ah !  it's  rather  a  change 
from  silk  scarves  and  Italy  to  stitching  mail-bags  in  a 
mustard-colored  jacket — to  the  plank  bedstead  where  you're 
lying  at  this  moment,  with  a  Government  blanket  to  cover 
you,  and  a  warder  taking  peeps  at  you  periodically  to  see 
that  you  don't  hang  yourself  from  the  window-bars.  Oh! 
my  darling,  I  wish  I  could  go  to  you,  for  I  know  you  want 
me." 

Dodo's  twenty  blithe  springs  had  made  but  a  scanty 
preparation  for  a  love  like  this.  It  had  not  altered,  but  it 
had  ripened  her.  Intellectually,  Dodo  had  matured  early: 
in  her  teens  she  had  acquired  a  keenness,  and  with  it  that 
touch  of  hardness  which  seems  to  be  the  inseparable  acci 
dent  of  intelligent  youth.  To  her  own  people  and  to  Grace 
Trevor  she  had  always  given  a  deep  affection,  but  for  the 
rest  of  the  world  her  temper,  under  its  surface  amiability, 
had  been  too  readily  amused  to  be  altogether  kind.  Now 
the  old  irresponsibly  happy  acceptance  of  life  was  gone  for 
ever,  and  with  it  the  old  touch  of  pitilessness :  she  could  not 
go  on  laughing  at  the  world  since  she  had  seen  its  wounds. 
Never  again  would  there  rise  to  her  lips  that  ory  of  the 


204  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

young,  "Such  things  don't  happen,"  for  she  knew  now 
that  nothing  is  too  cruel  to  happen,  and  no  cruelty  too  hard 
to  be  borne. 

There  was  one  part  of  her  old  life  that  passed  the  bounds 
of  her  toleration,  and  that  was  the  first  day  of  her  engage 
ment.  The  memory  of  that  evening  in  the  Blandfords' 
garden  long  retained  power  to  make  Dodo's  face  contract 
and  her  hands  clench  themselves  in  the  bitterness  of  strong 
pain  and  indignation.  To  have  had  such  an  hour,  and  to 
have  thrown  it  away !  She  had  hurt  Auburn,  too :  she  had 
cut  deeper  than  his  self-love,  deeper  than  his  pride.  Weak 
or  strong,  frank  or  insincere,  at  least  he  had  not  tried  to 
bargain  with  her.  "I  do  love  you."  She  remembered  the 
very  tones  of  his  voice,  stumbling  in  unaccustomed  nervous 
ness.  "I'll  tell  you  anything  you  want  to  know."  He  had 
laid  his  life  with  all  its  reticences,  his  love  in  all  its  bare 
strength,  in  her  hands  freely:  and  she,  in  the  recklessness 
of  youth,  sure  of  worlds  and  time  enough,  and  afraid  of 
her  own  heart — she  had  put  him  away  with  a  laugh.  "And 
that  will  come  back  to  him,"  she  said  to  herself,  "and  he'll 
think  that  was  the  real  Dodo."  Death  itself  can  hardly 
make  us  long  more  to  live  our  lives  over  again,  than  does 
separation. 

But  it  was  only  now  and  then  that  Dodo  gave  a  cursory 
saddened  glance  to  the  wreck  of  her  own  life.  That  lay  all 
plain  before  her :  no  pleasant  prospect,  but  clearly  mapped 
out,  and  not  to  be  avoided.  To  guide  the  house,  to  harry 
Aline  into  orderly  ways,  to  charm  away  Mr.  Carminow's 
fits  of  gloom,  Caron's  petulance,  Bernard's  sullenness:  to 
take  her  place  in  the  parish,  drill  her  boys,  and  carry  port 
wine  to  her  own  women :  and  to  do  all  gaily,  to  be  the  light 
of  the  house  and  not  an  oppression  in  it — there  was  her 
duty,  the  true  woman's  duty,  trivial  but  not  thankless,  in 
expressibly  weary  yet  bringing  its  own  reward.  All  that 
she  could  bear,  and  did,  as  she  sat  by  the  open  casement 
above  the  lamplit  valley,  make  up  her  mind  to  bear  fear- 


205 

lessly  and  gallantly :  but  that  was  a  slight  thing,  after  all. 
What  weighed  on  her  and  crushed  her  was  the  burden  of 
pity  for  Auburn :  a  burden  that  would  never  lift,  for  she 
never  could,  day  or  night,  say  to  herself,  ''Now  he  is  at 
rest."  Bitter  it  was  to  remember  that  she  had  not  been 
able  to  convince  him  of  her  constancy.  "  Other  women 
have  said  they  would  not  forget,  and  have  forgotten,"  she 
said  to  herself,  "but  I  shall  not  forget.  Forget!  Oh,  my 
love,  I  could  as  soon  forget  God  as  your  eyes  that  night." 
The  memory  made  her  wring  her  hands  together  in  torment. 

She  sat  looking  at  the  portrait  as  if  it  had  been  a  mirror 
that  showed  her,  by  lightning-gleams,  the  very  truth.  And 
so  indeed  it  did :  for  now  she  was  realizing  the  things  that 
for  some  while  she  had  only  believed. 

"What  will  you  do  in  prison,  Charles?  Kill  yourself? 
You're  reckless  enough.  Or  die  under  it?  You're  weak 
enough.  Live  through  it  and  come  back  to  me?  Hardly, 
I  think.  Bernard  might,  Eoden  would:  but  you've  neither 
Bernard's  toughness  nor  Eoden 's  calm,  deep  strength. 
You've  lived  a  self-indulgent  life  for  five-and-thirty  years, 
obeying  no  law  but  your  own  pleasure  and  your  class  code 
of  honor,  which  I  dare  say  was  not  very  inflexible.  You're 
proud,  yes:  with  the  kind  of  pride  that  prison  regulations 
will  break  and  crumble  to  atoms.  You  labor  under  the 
impression  that  you're  a  democrat,  but  when  it  cornea  to 
being  ordered  about  by — what  do  you  say?  .  .  .  'those 
infernal  brutes  of  warders ' 

"What  will  you  be  like  when  you  come  back  to  me  in 
twenty  years'  time,  grey-haired,  and  used-up,  and  old?  You 
think  I  shall  forget:  but  isn't  it  you  that  will  have  for 
gotten?  That  night  at  Hillingdon  you  loved  me  better,  I 
think,  than  most  men  ever  love  a  woman :  but  that  was  be 
cause  the  whole  thing  was  so  tragically  worked  up,  and  you 
yourself  were  strung  to  breaking-point  with  that  odd  dread 
of  death  and  greater  dread  of  letting  me  see  it.  But  in 
twenty  years'  time  what  you  will  want  will  be  a  clear  fire, 


*06  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

and  a  good  dinner,  and  a  glass  of  wine  and  a  cigar.  Tell 
me,  Charles,  isn't  that  a  true  bill!"  Auburn's  eyes  looked 
somberly  into  her  own.  They  told  her  nothing :  they  would 
not  have  told  her  much  had  they  been  his  living  eyes,  for 
Auburn's  face,  with  all  its  gay  animation,  was  no  index  to 
his  thoughts.  "Are  you  angry  with  me  for  reading  you  so 
hardly?  Do  I  misjudge  you?  I  know  you're  no  coward 
under  a  sudden  strain,  witness  that  last  interview  of  ours 
and  your  coolness  on  the  rack :  but  have  you  the  reserve  of 
strength,  the  quiet,  undramatic,  commonplace  courage  that 
one  needs  to  fight  through  twenty  years?  Will  you  break 
down  under  it,  and  let  it  degrade  you  ?  Or  will  you  die  in 
prison  ? 

"Oh,  and  while  I  sit  here  by  the  open  window  and  the 
great  bright  night,  you're  stifling  in  your  cell  under  the 
warder's  spy-hole." 

She  slipped  down  on  the  floor  and  knelt  there,  her  arms 
flung  out  on  the  sill,  her  head  buried  between  them.  In  that 
moment  Dodo  knew  the  meaning  of  revolt.  For  he  was 
innocent :  not  God  but  man,  not  justice  but  law  had  thrown 
him  into  his  living  grave.  "Oh,  my  God!  oh,  my  God!" 
Dodo  spoke  aloud,  "am  I  to  see  him  die,  the  man  Thou 
gavest  me?  He's  mine,  mine,  not  theirs — mine,  and  inno 
cent  :  am  I  to  live  on  year  after  year  while  they  break  him 
under  their  hammer  ?  Oh,  if  I  were  free !  .  .  .  and  shan  't 
I  be  free,  some  day?" 

Agnes  Carminow  had  been  dead  twenty  years,  but  her 
blood  was  still  flowing  in  the  veins  of  some  of  her  children. 
The  saint  and  mystic  had  early  reappeared,  though  under 
an  altered  form,  in  Bod  en's  austere  religion:  another  side 
of  her  remarkable  character  was  now  to  manifest  itself  in 
Dodo,  by  will,  by  tenacity,  above  all  by  a  singular  intel 
lectual  daring.  She  imagined  herself  standing  alone  against 
all  the  organized  forces  of  society,  and  she  was  not  afraid : 
the  mere  brute  mass  of  authority,  which,  as  a  rule,  bears 
down  all  individual  thought,  had  small  weight  with  her. 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  207 

Long  she  remained  kneeling,  and  when  she  rose  to  her  feet 
it  was  with  an  altered  look.  The  new  thought  that  had 
come  into  her  mind  was  working  in  her  so  strongly  that 
every  other  thought,  even  grief,  even  fear,  even  the  haras 
sing  preoccupation  of  pity,  had  vanished  from  her  eyes. 
She  undressed  and  got  into  bed,  but  she  did  not  go  to 
sleep :  the  night  went  by  like  one  hour  while  she  lay  think 
ing  out  her  resolution.  At  length  grey  dawn  surprised  her : 
somewhere  far  off  in  the  house  a  clock  chimed  the  hour :  it 
was  six  in  the  morning,  and  her  sleepless  eyes  were  bright 
and  rested. 

She  slipped  from  her  bed  again  and  went  to  look  out  of 
the  window.  The  sun  would  not  be  up  for  an  hour:  the 
morning  was  cloudy  and  soft.  Winter  dew  lay  thick  on 
the  wintry  wold.  A  dim  light,  so  grey  that  it  could  hardly 
be  called  light,  was  diffused  over  the  face  of  the  earth  under 
a  fell  of  grey  cloud,  whose  ragged  curtains  lifted  in  the  east 
over  a  gleam  of  brownish  air.  How  chill  it  was — how  soft 
and  chill!  How  infinitely  far  off  lay  the  uplands  of  the 
Plain,  their  wrinkles  and  ledges  softened  by  a  bloom  of 
mist !  There  was  little  color  in  the  wide,  wintry  landscape, 
and  little  life  except  for  the  ceaseless  blowing  of  the  chill 
and  early  wind.  Dodo  threw  her  window  wider  open  and 
leaned  out,  bathing  herself  in  the  rush  of  strong,  cold  air. 
If  all  the  world  beside  was  unilluminated,  there  was  light 
on  her  face:  if  the  Plain  languished  in  winter  there  was 
spring-time  in  that  slight  figure,  the  May  of  youth,  and 
passion,  and  courage  that  no  odds  can  daunt. 

"I'll  go  on  loving  the  world,  Charles,"  she  breathed, 
looking  northwards  to  his  prison.  "You're  still  in  it." 


XXII. 

Q5  ENSATIONAL  trials  crop  up  from  time  to  time,  run 
k3  through  their  nine  days'  wonder,  and  are  forgotten. 
Years  later,  glancing  over  a  file  of  old  newspapers,  the 
chance  reader  recalls  the  famous  details  with  a  reminiscent 
nod,  but  the  actors,  for  him,  are  shadows:  the  play  is 
played  out :  the  curtain  has  fallen.  It  is  odds  if  the  reflec 
tion  so  much  as  once  occurs  to  him  that  the  tragedy  of  the 
last  act  is  still  going  on  behind  the  scenes. 

Within  a  twelvemonth  of  the  Auburn  trial  Charles 
Auburn,  so  far  as  society  was  concerned,  had  ceased  to 
exist.  He  lived  only  in  the  memories  of  his  immediate 
friends.  Ferndean,  shut  up  in  charge  of  a  caretaker,  bore 
witness  to  the  unf  orgetting  grief  of  Roland  Carew :  a  Wilt 
shire  vicarage,  a  London  studio,  a  cottage  in  Hampshire,  a 
Plain  station  under  the  far  Indian  sun  exchanged  tidings 
of  the  prisoner,  and  that  was  all.  The  waters  had  closed 
over  him. 

Another  year  passed,  and  Koland  came  back  to  Fern- 
dean.  A  man  has  no  right  to  neglect  his  tenants  for  a  pri 
vate  sentiment!  Caron  Carminow  wintered  in  Norway, 
returned  with  a  portfolio  full  of  etchings,  made  a  hit  with 
an  exhibition  at  Staveley's,  and  was  (courteously)  carica 
tured  in  Punch.  The  world  smiled  on  him,  and  it  would 
have  been  ungracious  not  to  return  the  compliment.  Roden 
was  twice  down  with  fever,  and  from  his  letters  home,  al 
ways  laconic,  Auburn's  name  gradually  dropped  out.  Eric 
Blandford  decided  that  old  scandals  might  now  be  safely 
ignored,  and  proposed  to  Dodo,  and  shortly  afterwards 
Grace  Trevor,  for  no  acknowledgeable  reason,  had  a  quarrel 

208 


AN  ORDEAL  OF  HONOR       *09 

with  Mabel  Blandford  and  cut  her  dead  at  the  Mothers' 
Meeting.  It  was  suggested  in  connection  with  this  affair, 
of  which  the  Blandfords  made  no  secret,  that  Dodo  must 
still  be  thinking  of  her  old  lover,  or  she  would  never  have 
refused  so  eligible  a  young  man :  but  few  believed  it.  All 
agreed  that  she  had  acted  imprudently:  for  Mr.  Carminow's 
health  was  failing  fast,  and  when  he  died  what  would 
Dodo  do? 

Meanwhile  Auburn,  having  completed  his  five  months' 
solitary  confinement,  had  been  transferred  to  the  great 
prison  which  stands  up,  grey  and  grim,  in  the  heart  of  wild 
Dartmoor.  The  day  which  took  him  down  to  Princetown 
was  one  of  wild  April  storm,  and  bitter  was  his  disappoint 
ment  when  he  found  his  view  of  beloved  Devon  obscured 
by  streams  of  rain.  Even  so,  however,  the  journey  was  a 
welcome  break  in  the  monotony  of  his  daily  life. 

When  Auburn  first  went  to  prison,  he  knew  no  more  of 
what  he  should  find  there  than  any  other  man  who  skims 
two  or  three  newspapers  a  day.  He  was  prepared  for  heavy 
work,  short  commons,  brutal  warders,  dirt,  and  misery.  He 
found  a  great  establishment  organized  on  a  military  basis, 
largely  cheerful,  going  by  clockwork,  and  clean  as  a  new 
pin.  It  is  hardly  in  man,  it  certainly  is  not  in  the  average 
member  of  the  criminal  classes,  to  live  long  at  the  breaking- 
point  of  distress,  and  the  large  majority  of  his  mates  were 
fairly  resigned  to  their  lot.  The  wardens,  many  of  them 
old  soldiers,  were  as  a  class  just  and  kindly  men,  who  did 
what  they  could  to  ease  the  discipline  over  a  jaded  temper. 
The  work  was  not  oppressive,  and  the  food  was  fairly  good 
of  its  kind :  it  is  true  that  Auburn  was  always  hungry,  and 
at  times  would  have  sold  his  soul  for  a  pipe,  but  for  these 
hardships  he  had  to  thank  his  own  vigorous  physique  and 
the  eternal  cigars  of  the  past. 

In  all  this  there  was  neither  brutality  nor  severity,  but 
there  was  much  monotony.  From  reveille  at  ten  minutes 
past  five  of  a  morning  till  lights-out  at  eight  of  a  night, 


210  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

Auburn's  day  went  by  routine.  Breakfast,  chapel,  parade, 
work,  dinner,  work,  supper,  bed — so  ran  the  simple  pro 
gramme,  in  which  a  good  deal  of  time  was  devoted  to  sleep 
that  knits  up  the  raveled  sleave  of  care ;  on  winter  Sunday 
nights,  indeed,  when  all  lights  were  out  by  half-past  four 
in  the  afternoon,  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  resign 
oneself  to  a  sleep  of  thirteen  hours.  In  these  circumstances 
the  weekly  bath  and  shave  became  a  sensational  event: 
books,  borrowed  every  Saturday  from  the  prison  library, 
were  read  from  cover  to  cover  ten  times  over:  and  when, 
one  day  in  the  quarries,  a  convict  of  the  rare  brutal  type 
ran  amok  and  laid  open  a  warder's  head  with  a  hammer,  the 
shock  was  so  startling  that  Auburn  missed  all  chance  of 
distinguishing  himself,  and  stood  staring  throughout  the 
agitating  ten  minutes  that  followed  before  Bill  Sykes  could 
be  disarmed. 

It  was  to  the  quarries  that  Auburn  was  sent,  for  his 
physique  marked  him  out  for  the  most  exhausting  class  of 
labor,  and  he  was  glad:  better,  far  better,  to  tax  one's 
muscles  in  the  open  air  than  to  go  into  the  shops  as  car 
penter  or  bookbinder.  Resolved  to  lose  no  marks,  he  threw 
himself  into  the  work  with  energy,  and  soon  gained  as  much 
approval  as  was  consistent  with  rigid  impartiality.  The 
warders  liked  the  tall  quiet  man  who  could  be  relied  on  to 
make  a  clean  job  of  things,  and  to  give  no  unnecessary 
trouble,  and  to  treat  them  with  pleasant  respect.  Among 
his  mates,  also,  Auburn  won  an  easy  footing  when  once  they 
were  assured  that  he  would  neither  give  himself  airs  nor 
try  to  curry  favor  by  telling  tales.  Conversation  was 
strictly  forbidden.  The  prohibition  was  a  dead  letter.  Be 
tween  practised  artists  talk  went  on  incessantly  under  the 
very  noses  of  the  officers,  who  had  learned  to  be  a  little 
blind  on  this  point,  since  interference  was  sure  to  provoke 
friction  and  could  do  no  good.  Auburn  soon  picked  up 
this  inaudible  lip-language,  and  while  he  swung  his  pick 
axe  heard  many  a  fantastic  life-story,  many  a  chapter  of 


AN  ORDEAL  OF  HONOR 

picaresque  romance.  He  did  not  reciprocate  these  con 
fidences.  His  name,  however,  was  known  (for  at  Prince- 
town  the  prisoner  does  not  sink  his  identity  in  a  number), 
and  the  L.  on  his  sleeve  proclaimed  him  a  lifer,  while  later 
arrivals  contributed  details,  largely  imaginary,  of  his 
offense.  Its  reputed  brutality  cast  an  infernal  halo  round 
Auburn's  dark  head;  for  there  is  an  aristocracy  of  crime, 
and  among  flats  and  hooks,  snide  pitchers  and  magsmen, 
your  uncrowned  king  is  he  who  has  had  the  narrowest 
escape  of  being  topped. 

Auburn  had  one  point  of  frequent  contact  with  the  non- 
criminal  world  in  the  person  of  the  Reverend  Hugh  Rose. 
They  had  parted  with  mutual  regret  upon  Auburn's  first 
change  of  quarters,  only  to  meet  again  at  Princetown, 
whither  Rose,  troubled  in  his  lungs  by  a  long  residence 
amid  London  soot,  had  achieved  an  exchange,  and  there 
had  sprung  up  between  the  silent,  well-mannered  convict 
and  the  devoted  priest  a  feeling  which  under  other  circum 
stances  would  have  been  called  a  sincere  friendship.  Such 
influence  as  Auburn  had  among  his  mates  was  always  at 
the  chaplain's  service,  while  Rose,  coming  and  going  at  odd 
hours  and  alone,  was,  though  he  did  not  know  it,  the  chief 
agent  in  keeping  Auburn  sane  and  strong. 

Sane :  for  prison  life,  despite  its  freedom  from  hardships, 
does  produce  more  than  its  normal  crop  of  suicide  and 
insanity.  Auburn  had  no  right  to  grumble,  and  he  did  not 
grumble,  but  it  taxed  his  fortitude,  as  the  years  went  on,  to 
remain  his  own  master.  The  monotonous  routine,  the  want 
of  privacy,  and  the  mills  of  thought  grinding  in  his  own 
brain  combined  in  one  steady  pressure  that  went  near  to 
bear  down  the  walls  of  his  individuality.  He  saw  himself 
a  convict  among  convicts,  worked,  fed,  gospelled,  stripped, 
to  order.  Rose  linked  him  to  the  time  when  he  had  walked 
a  free  man. 

Rose,  and  Rose  alone :  for  the  same  could  not  be  said  of 
Roland  Carew,  though  he  did  his  best.  As  often  as  the 


AN  ORDEAL  OF  HONOR 

prison  regulations  allowed  lie  came  to  Dartmoor  for  half 
an  hour's  talk  through  a  wire  screen  and  under  the  eyes  of 
a  warder,  but  neither  he  nor  Auburn  had  much  satisfaction 
from  these  interviews,  for  Koland,  between  grief,  disgust, 
and  his  own  peculiar  ideas  of  being  tactful,  managed  as  a 
rule  to  confound  himself  and  Auburn  too.  As  for  Dodo, 
Auburn  had  not  seen  her  since  the  night  of  the  reprieve. 
He  had  exchanged  letters  with  her — brief,  formal  letters 
written  in  the  light  of  prison  surveillance — and  he  had 
heard  of  her  through  Roland  from  time  to  time.  But 
what's  the  good  of  letters,  or  of  news  at  second-hand? 
Auburn  had  hoped  against  hope  that  she  would  come  to  see 
him.  When  she  did  not  come  he  said  to  himself,  "It  is  a 
good  thing  that  she  is  getting  over  it, ' '  and  turned  his  face 
to  the  wall. 

June  at  Stanton  Mere :  an  abrupt,  hot  June  after  a  chilly 
May,  in  the  fourth  year  of  Auburn's  imprisonment.  Eve 
ning  now,  still  and  fresh:  a  sky  softly  quilted  over  with 
grey  clouds  touched  by  after-sunset  light  to  the  coloring  of 
a  dove 's  breast :  daisies  shutting  on  the  lawn,  monthly  roses 
giving  out  their  good  country  smell  in  the  borders,  rooks 
wrangling  in  the  tops  of  the  tall  elms  over  their  beds  for 
the  night.  From  the  orchard  behind  the  house  came  the 
long,  low,  tuneless  flute-note  of  a  nightingale's  song. 

Sweet  the  welcome  of  this  hushed  coolness  to  the  way 
farer,  as  the  gate  under  the  chestnuts  swung  and  clicked 
between  him  and  the  dusty  road!  He  came  up  the  drive, 
looking  about  him  with  quick,  unfamiliar  eyes  that  ob 
served  every  change :  the  loss  of  a  clump  of  laurels  that  had 
died  in  the  last  hard  winter,  the  vigorous  growth  of  a 
mountain  ash  that  had  sprung  up  in  their  stead.  Such  were 
the  changes  that  the  years  had  wrought  in  Stanton  Mere! 
As  he  crossed  the  lawn,  however,  and  ran  up  the  steps  to 
the  terrace,  he  was  struck  by  a  greater  alteration,  in  the 
forlorn  aspect  of  the  house,  for  it  seemed  to  be  deserted: 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  213 

the  garden  was  empty,  and  many  of  the  windows  were 
closed.  He  peered  into  the  darkening  studio  and  saw  a 
woman — not  Dodo — who  stood  by  the  table  piling  fruit  on 
a  dish.  "Who  is  it?"  she  exclaimed,  startled.  He  did  not 
answer,  and  Grace  Trevor,  who  was  not  nervous,  walked 
straight  up  to  him.  There  was  still  light  enough  for  her 
to  recognize  the  slight  figure  and  the  thin,  fair  features. 

"Roden!    Is  it  you?" 

"Even  so." 

"You  in  the  flesh?" 

"To  a  reasonable  extent.    How  are  you,  Gracie?" 

He  gave  her  hand  a  brotherly  squeeze,  which  Grace  was 
too  much  astonished  to  return.  "Really  you!"  she  said: 
"why,  I  was  just  thinking  of  you  in  India  and  wishing  you 
were  home.  Dear  old  Roddy,  I — I'm  awfully  glad!  But 
how  did  you  know?" 

"Know  what?" 

"I  mean — "  she  mended  her  slip  hurriedly — ''why 
didn't  you  let  us  know  you  were  coming?  It's  a  perfect 
thunderclap  to  have  you  turn  up  like  this  from  the 
Antipodes !  Never  mind,  come  in  and  tell  me  all  about  it, 
and  then  perhaps  I  shall  begin  to  believe  my  eyes." 

Roden  stepped  through  the  window  into  the  studio,  but 
not  the  old  studio.  The  air,  warm  and  thick,  was  that  of  a 
place  that  has  been  shut  up  through  the  heat  of  the  day, 
and  a  general  aspect  of  desolation  confirmed  this  view. 
Dust  lay  thick  on  the  lid  of  the  piano,  and  the  chairs  were 
pushed  about  in  comfortless  disorder.  The  ferns  in  pots 
drooped  for  want  of  water:  the  vases  were  full  of  dying 
flowers,  some  of  which  had  dropped,  showering  down  their 
brown  petals  on  the  floor.  Roden  had  begun  to  be  seri 
ously  uneasy,  but  Grace,  pulling  forward  a  great  leathern 
armchair,  gave  him  no  time  to  ask  questions.  "What  on 
earth  has  brought  you  home  in  such  a  tearing  hurry  ?  Have 
you  been  being  seedy  again  ? ' ' 

"Rather:  I  had  a  third  spell  of  fever,  and  was  packed  off 


2U  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

on  the  spot.  A  letter  would  not  have  got  here  before  me, 
and  as  for  cabling,  I  didn't  see  the  force  of  it:  you  would 
only  have  concluded  I  was  dying." 

* '  And  weren  't  you  ? ' ' 

"Ami  dead?" 

' '  Weren 't  you  pretty  bad  ? "  He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
"How  long  leave  have  you  got?" 

"Why,  the  fact  is,  they  tell  me  I'm  not  to  go  back:  but 
I  shall  see  to  that  later  on.  I'm  perfectly  fit  again;  the 
voyage  has  pulled  me  round.  Where's " 

' '  Where 's  your  luggage  ? ' ' 

"Coming  on  by  porter  from  Amesbury.    Wh " 

' '  Have  you  had  anything  to  eat  ? ' ' 

Roden's  eyes  were  quizzical,  in  spite  of  his  anxiety. 
"My  dear  girl,  you  were  not  born  to  grace  the  diplomatic 
service.  Will  you  tell  me  what  is  wrong — is  any  one  ill  ? " 

"Oh!  Roddy " 

"My  dear  girl,  I'd  rather  know." 

"Very  well,  I  will  tell  you,"  said  Grace,  sighing.  "It's 
your  father.  He's  very  ill." 

"Dying?" 

"I'm  afraid  there  isn't  much  hope." 

"Any  hope  at  all?  .  .  .  Never  mind,  I  didn't  mean  to 
distress  you.  I'm  glad  I'm  here,  anyhow.  What  is  it?" 

"Pleurisy  and  double  pneumonia.  He  got  wet  a  fort 
night  ago  driving  out  of  Amesbury." 

"Can  I  go  up  to  him?" 

"Not  just  now.    Dr.  Minnett  is  with  him." 

"Where's  Dodo?" 

"She's  up  there  too:  I'll  call  her  directly  I  can,  but  I 
don't  like  to  interrupt." 

"Are  the  others  here?" 

"Yes,  all  of  them.    Shall  I  go  and  find  them?" 

"No :  I'll  wait  and  see  Dodo  first." 

"I'm  very  sorry,  Roddy!" 

Roden  smiled,  but  his  face  was  painfully  drawn.    "It's 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  215 

rather  a  bad  bit  of  news  for  a  welcome  home,  but  I  knew 
something  was  wrong  before  I  set  foot  in  the  house.  I'm 
glad  I'm  here:  I  should  like  to  see  him  again.  Will  he 
know  me,  do  you  think  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  I  expect  so.  He's  quite  quiet  and  not  in  much  pain 
now :  wandering  a  good  deal  from  time  to  time,  but  he  gen 
erally  seems  to  know  Dodo." 

Roden  was  silent  for  a  few  moments;  but  his  own 
thoughts  were  so  sad,  and  there  were  so  many  ravelled  ends 
to  be  knit  up  after  three  years  of  scanty  though  regular 
correspondence,  that  he  soon  began  again. 

"How  is  Auburn?" 

"Quite  well,  so  far  as  we  know.  Dodo  heard  from  him 
in  May,  and  will  hear  again  in  August." 

"Is  he  still  at  Princetown?" 

"Yes,  working  in  the  quarries.  Dodo  has  been  urging 
him  to  try  and  get  put  on  the  roads:  that  sort  of  job  is  kept 
for  fourth  year  men,  and  she  thinks  it  would  do  him  such  a 
lot  of  good.  He  must  feel  so  shut  in,  boxed  up  in  a  beastly 
quarry." 

"How  does  he  write — cheerfully?" 

"Oh,  always!  He  never  grumbles.  Generally  he  says 
it's  'very  decent,'  or  'rather  jolly  than  otherwise.'  Once 
Dodo  said  it  got  down  to  'quite  bearable,'  and  then  she 
knew  he  must  have  been  brought  very  low:  but  that's  the 
only  time.  Lately  he's  been  threatening  to  give  up  writing 
altogether,  though,  because  he  thinks  it  stops  her  forgetting 
him." 

"What  a  charming  state  of  affairs!"  said  Roden. 

He  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and  let  his  eyes  rove  round  the 
studio,  so  changed  from  the  gay  vagabond  of  a  room,  spruce 
though  disorderly,  which  framed  his  boyhood's  memories. 
"It's  a  weary  business,  Gracie.  Dear  me,  what  jolly 
times  we  used  to  have  in  this  old  room,  and  how  idiotically 
young  we  all  were !  I  never  had  any  money,  but  that  was 
the  only  care  I  had  in  the  world ;  and  Dodo  was  a  droll  child 


216  AN    ORDEAL    OF   HONOR 

too,  and  as  lively  as  a  kitten.  Do  you  remember  that  Christ 
mas  Eve  when  we  were  all  about  sixteen,  and  got  up 
charades,  and  you  were  Mother  Hubbard  and  Dodo  was 
your  dog?  I  suppose  a  more  complacently  silly  set  of 
youngsters  couldn't  have  been  picked  out  of  any  house  in 
England.  Who  would  have  thought  we  should  turn  out 
so  tragically?  It  was  a  cruel  stroke  of  luck  that  sent  that 
fellow  down  our  way." 

"I  don't  see  why  you  should  be  so  tragic  as  all  that." 

"I  know  you  don't,  but  I  can't  escape  it.  Oh,  I'm  tired, 
tired  to  death,  Gracie!"  He  did  look  tired:  more  tired  and 
more  spiritless,  Grace  thought,  than  was  warranted  even  by 
three  spells  of  fever  and  the  shock  of  her  bad  news.  She 
was  not  sure  enough  of  her  voice  to  reply,  but  she  laid  her 
hand  on  his  knee,  and  Roden  put  his  own  over  it,  and  smiled 
up  at  her,  as  she  stood  beside  him,  with  an  effort  at  gaiety. 
"Dear  old  girl,  I've  no  business  to  come  and  worry  you 
with  my  troubles." 

"I  like  it,  if  it  does  you  any  good." 

"Why,  one  does  get  sick  of  keeping  them  to  oneself. 
Never  mind!"  He  straightened  his  shoulders  and  threw 
back  his  head  as  if  he  were  readjusting  himself  to  an  ac 
customed  burden,  and  went  on  more  lightly.  "Upon  my 
word,  Miss  Trevor,  I  wonder  some  one  hasn't  taken  ad 
vantage  of  my  absence  to  carry  you  off.  When  are  you 
going  to  get  married,  may  I  ask?" 

' '  You  evidently  feel  it 's  high  time !  I  think  you  're  rather 
rude." 

"So  I  am,  but  I  mean  well.  I  was  only  thinking  what  a 
pity  it  would  be  if  none  of  those  happy-go-lucky  children 
pulled  off  a  good  thing.  You  do  it,  and  break  the  spell !  I 
should  like  to  see  you  married,  it  would  be  such  a  joke!" 

"I'm  glad  you  think  so." 

"Although,  in  point  of  fact,  I  should  be  seriously  an 
noyed  if  you  did  get  married.  I  don't  want  to  lose  my 
chum,  and  we've  always  been  ehums,  haven't  we?  Indeed, 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  217 

I  rather  think  on  a  previous  occasion  you  promised  to 
many  me." 

"When?" 

"The  exact  date  has  slipped  my  mind,  but  I  know  we 
were  all  drinking  gingerbeer  and  eating  strawberries  on 
the  lawn,  preparatory  to  playing  hide  and  seek,  and  you 
chose  me  as  your  partner,  and  we  hid  behind  the  cucumber 
frames,  and  I  kissed  you  and  you  kissed  me " 

"I  didn't!" 

"My  child,  you  did — and  I  said  'Let's  get  married  when 
we  grow  up,'  and  you  said,  'Let's,  what  a  jolly  lark !'  " 

"I  do  remember,"  said  Grace,  "but  it's  a  long  time  ago." 

1 1  Half  a  lifetime, ' '  said  Koden.  ' '  I  suppose  I  was  about 
fourteen.  Can  you  believe  that  you're  the  same  being  now 
as  you  were  then ?  I  can't." 

"I  don't  think  I've  altered  much." 

' '  Haven 't  you  ?    I  wish  I  hadn  't. ' ' 

He  threw  himself  back  impatiently,  and  the  momentary 
gleam  of  mirth  faded  from  his  face.  "So  we  come  back  to 
our  blind  alley,  don't  we?  I  say,  do  you  think  that  ass 
Minett  is  ever  going  ? ' ' 

"Shall  I  go  and  see  if  I  can  get  Dodo  out  of  the  room?" 

"Do,  there's  a  dear  girl.  I  daren't,  for  fear  of  startling 
her." 

Not  sorry  to  escape,  Grace  ran  up  to  Mr.  Carminow's 
room,  but  met  Dodo  on  the  landing :  she  had  just  come  out, 
white  and  hurried.  At  first  Grace  could  hardly  get  her  to 
listen  at  all:  the  name  of  the  wanderer  secured  attention, 
but  no  great  show  of  surprise. 

"Roddy  here?  Just  arrived  from  India?  Oh,  thank 
heaven!  Where  is  he?" 

"In  the  studio:  but  oh,  Dodo,  he  does  look  so  ill!" 

"I  can't  think  of  that  now.  Do  you  know  where  the 
others  are?" 

"Where  the  others  are? — oh,  you  don't  mean 1" 

"Yes,  I  do." 


218  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

"The  end?" 

"Now,  in  a  few  minutes." 

Grace  wrung  her  hands.    ' '  Oh,  my  poor  Roden ! '  * 

"Dear  Grace,  he'll  be  thankful  to  be  here.  But  do  you 
know  where  the  others  are?  Please  think." 

"Bernard's  in  his  room,  Car  and  Dickie  are  in  the  orch 
ard.  I'll  tell  them,  you  go  to  him." 

"Thank  you  dearest,"  said  Dodo,  and  ran  down  to  the 
studio.  Even  at  that  moment  she,  like  Grace,  was  startled 
by  the  change  in  Roden,  and  he  by  her,  for  the  years  had 
set  their  mark  on  Dodo :  still  only  two-and-twenty,  she  had 
the  graceful  slenderness  of  youth,  the  smooth  unwrinkled 
skin,  and  the  pale  bloom  of  coloring,  but  with  all  the  charm 
of  her  age  she  was  a  woman  as  well,  tired  yet  fearless,  and 
eminently  capable  of  coping  with  sickness  or  pain.  She 
did  not  need  to  say  many  words  to  Roden. 

"Drink  this  wine  before  you  come  up,  old  boy." 

"My  dear  child " 

"No,  you  must  drink  it:  you've  been  ill,  and  you  look 
deathly  tired.  Dear  Roden,  you'll  want  your  strength: 
you're  only  just  in  time." 

Roden  drank  it,  chiefly  because  it  was  a  tradition  in  the 
family  to  obey  Dodo,  and  followed  her  upstairs,  feeling — 
so  rapidly  had  events  gone  since  his  entry — as  if  he  had 
been  home  a  month.  The  nurse  slipped  from  the  room  as 
the  children  of  the  dying  man  came  in,  and  after  a  moment 
Dr.  Minett  followed  her.  Mr.  Carminow  was  lying  on  his 
back,  his  head  and  shoulders  supported  by  pillows:  his 
eyes  were  closed,  and  his  breath  came  in  short,  loud  gasps. 
One  hand  was  thrown  out.  Dodo  laid  her  own  over  it  and 
felt  how  cold  it  was,  and  how  wet.  At  her  touch  he  revived 
for  a  moment,  coming  back  not  all  the  way  but  a  part  of 
the  way  from  that  terrible  next  world. 

"Who's  there?"  he  muttered,  in  the  thick,  unfamiliar 
voice  of  dying  men. 

"I— Dodo." 


AN  ORDEAL  OF  HONOR 

"Are  the  others  with  you?    It's  so  dark,  I  can't  see." 

"I'm  here,"  said  Roden.  As  he  spoke  the  others  came 
in  together.  "We're  all  here,  father,"  Roden  added,  sure 
that  he  was  the  only  one  who  could  control  his  voice. 

"Good  boys,"  said  Mr.  Carminow,  "very  good  boys,  on 
the  whole.  Bernie  a  little  hard,  now  and  then — "  Bernard 
was  sobbing  like  a  child — "but  I  generally  got  my  own  way 
with  them,  my  dear."  He  tried  to  stroke  Dodo's  hand. 
"It's  been  a  long  while  without  you,  love." 

"It's  Dodo,  father,"  said  Dodo,  unwilling  to  forego  the 
last  word  of  farewell,  for  he  evidently  took  her  for  his  wife. 

"Oh,  Dodo,  yes,"  he  murmured,  "yes,  poor  child  .  .  . 
very  hard  lines  on  Dodo.  .  .  .  Pink  curtains  with  a  green 
paper  ?  Agnes,  Agnes,  how  could  you  ?  .  .  .  Oh,  have  it 
your  own  way,  my  sweetheart,  I  didn't  mean  to  be  cross." 

He  had  gone  back  thirty  years  and  was  shopping  with 
Agnes  Wray.  Dear  as  his  children  had  been  to  him,  the 
ruling  passion  was  literally  strong  in  death,  and  his  eyes 
passed  over  Roden,  who  would  have  given  much  for  a  word 
of  recognition,  and  Bernard,  whose  sore,  remorseful  heart 
ached  for  a  word  of  forgiveness,  to  look  into  the  sweet  smil 
ing  eyes  of  his  young  wife.  Soon  his  utterance  ceased  to  be 
intelligible,  and  his  thin  artist 's  fingers  began  to  travel  over 
the  sheets :  and  so  night  fell,  and  the  tired  worker  set  up 
his  everlasting  rest. 


xxin. 

JULY  was  hot  that  year.  Round  Auburn  even  the  big 
forest  trees  sickened  in  the  dry  light,  while  the  lesser 
shrubs  hung  down  their  branches,  on  which  the  leaves 
withered  and  turned  grey.  In  the  garden  of  Kose  Cottage 
the  lilies  stood  up  straight  and  stiff,  each  in  its  own  little 
patch  of  moist  earth,  where  Lesbia  came  with  her  watering- 
can  every  evening.  Jeannie  liked  the  lilies,  and  they 
bloomed  for  her. 

It  was  half -past  eleven,  and  the  sun  was  in  the  south. 
Great  faint  shapes  of  cloud,  that  were  hardly  more  than 
mist  except  at  the  rim,  obscured  his  light  and  cast  a  pre 
vailing  brassy  tinge  over  the  blueness  of  the  sky.  There 
was  no  wind:  the  trees,  the  grass,  the  cottage  itself  stood 
sunburned  and  colorless  in  that  parched  air.  Picking  beans 
was  hot  work,  and  Lesbia  Burnet,  bent  double  over  the 
squat  rows,  lifted  herself  up  now  and  then  and  straightened 
out  her  back  with  a  jerk.  Lesbia  had  always  been  a  woman 
of  remarkable  appearance,  and  she  was  not  the  less  so  for 
the  lapse  of  those  long  years.  Her  fine  eyes  looked  out 
defiantly  from  under  haggard  brows:  her  mouth  had 
hardened,  and  there  were  thick  streaks  of  white  in  her 
dark  hair.  When  she  had  picked  her  basket  full  she 
carried  it  into  the  spick  and  span  little  kitchen  where 
Jeannie  lay,  dressed  in  cool  print,  on  an  old  oaken  settle. 
The  younger  girl  lifted  up  her  head — once  handsomer  than 
Lesbia 's,  though  disfigured  now  by  long  sickness — with  a 
smile  of  flashing  sweetness,  and  threw  down  her  book. 
"Here,  I'll  do  those,"  she  said,  catching  the  basket  from 
Lesbia 's  hand;  "  shelling  beans  is  cooler  work  than  reading 

220 


AN  ORDEAL  OF  HONOR 

Sordello.  Is  it  ever  going  to  rain?  That  sky  coming  on 
top  of  the  chimneys  makes  me  feel  faint." 

"Yes,"  said  Lesbia,  glancing  out  of  the  window,  "it's 
hard  to  be  shut  between  four  walls  on  a  day  like  this. 
There'll  be  rain  soon,  I  think,"  she  added. 

Jeannie  knew  well  whither  her  sister's  thoughts  had 
flown,  but  she  knew  too  that  Lesbia  hated  sympathy.  She 
went  on  with  the  beans,  while  Lesbia  moved  about  the 
kitchen  preparing  dinner.  Presently  her  restless  feet 
carried  the  elder  woman  out  into  the  garden  again. 

"I'm  going  to  pull  a  handful  of  parsley,"  she  said  as  she 
went  out :  but  when  she  had  gathered  the  parsley  she  stood 
for  some  minutes  gazing  up  into  the  burning,  shadowed 
sky.  Her  lips  moved,  her  face  was  wrung  with  the  intensity 
of  her  thought.  "0  God,"  she  prayed,  "send  the  rain,  the 
blessed  cool  rain,  lest  Thy  servant  die  in  the  heat  of  those 
nasty  little  insanitary  cells  ..." 

The  sound  of  some  one  coming  up  the  road  brought  her 
back  to  earth  and  curiosity,  for  strangers  rarely  came  that 
way  on  foot.  Here  was  a  fair  slip  of  a  girl,  dressed  in  black, 
and  walking  with  a  finished  grace  and  ease  which  drew 
Lesbia 's  eyes  like  a  magnet.  She  stood  leaning  on  her  gate 
with  folded  arms,  watching,  grave  and  keen,  as  the  new 
comer  approached. 

"Mrs.  Burnett" 

"That's  my  name." 

"May  I  speak  to  you  for  a  few  minutes?" 

"Certainly,  ma'am — if  you've  anything  to  say." 

Lesbia  continued  to  lean  over  the  top  of  the  gate,  whieh 
she  had  apparently  no  idea  of  opening.  A  cooler  welcome 
could  hardly  have  been  extended  to  a  dusty  wayfarer :  this 
wayfarer,  however,  was  not  to  be  put  off.  She  said,  "I 
think  you  remember  me." 

"Perfectly,  ma'am — Miss,  I  should  say.  I  knew  you 
directly  I  saw  you.  You're  Miss  Carminow." 

"You  have  a  good  memory." 


222  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

"I  would  have  known  you  by  the  likeness  to  your 
brother." 

"I  didn't  know  you  knew  my  brother." 

"I  saw  him  once,  after  the  trial."  Lesbia's  face  hardened 
to  stone,  as  it  always  did  upon  any  reference  to  that  affair. 
"You're  as  much  like  him,  miss,  as  a  young  lady  can  be 
to  a  man." 

This  flick  of  the  whip  made  Dodo  smile.  She  drew  back 
a  pace  or  two  and  put  her  hands  behind  her  back,  school 
girl  fashion,  looking  up  at  Lesbia  with  her  bright  grave 
eyes.  " Mayn't  I  come  in?" 

"You'll  excuse  me,  miss,  if  I  say  I  know  my  own  ways 
best,  and  my  own  business." 

"Why  are  you  angry  with  me?" 

"I'm  not  angry." 

"Why  won't  you  let  me  in  then?  I  want  to  talk  to  you 
about  Charles.  I've  come  from  Wiltshire  to  see  you.  I 
suppose  you  and  I  are  the  people  who  love  him  best  in  the 
world " 

"Love!"  said  Lesbia.  Her  speaking  of  the  word  was 
like  the  first  flash  of  the  storm.  "Love!"  and  the  storm 
began  to  break:  "what  do  you  know  about  loving  a  man, 
miss,  a  young  lady  like  you  ?  Did  you  want  to  be  married 
to  him?  No,  you  wanted  to  be  keeping  company — a  far, 
far  different  thing !  Marriage  goes  deep,  there 's  things  in 
it  you're  much  too  modest  to  think  of:  it's  for  man  and 
woman,  not  for  young  gentleman  and  lady " 

"But  indeed  I  should  have  liked  very  much  to  marry 
him,"  said  Dodo,  half  smiling. 

This  not  being  at  all  the  sort  of  answer  that  Lesbia  had 
expected,  she  was  disconcerted,  and  showed  it.  Dodo  fol 
lowed  up  her  advantage. 

"You're  cross,  I  think,  because  I've  never  come  to  see 
you  before.  Let  me  in  and  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it,  but  I 
can't  and  won't  have  it  out  among  the  cabbages." 

Lesbia  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  stepped  aside  from  the 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  223 

wicket-gate.  "As  you  please,  miss,"  she  said  impatiently, 
"will  you  step  this  way?" 

She  led  Dodo  round  to  the  kitchen,  and  together  they 
entered  the  presence  of  the  sick  girl,  whose  mocking  eyes 
suggested  that  she  had  heard  a  good  deal  through  the 
window.  "My  sister  Jean,  miss,"  Lesbia  explained,  as  she 
set  a  chair  for  Dodo.  "You'll  not  think  me  rude  if  I  go 
on  getting  dinner  ready.  Poor  folks  must  eat,  you 
know " 

"This  lady  will  think  you  rude,  though,  if  you  talk  to 
her  in  that  tone,"  struck  in  Jeannie.  The  musical  refine 
ment  of  her  intonation  fell  pleasantly  on  Dodo's  ear  after 
Lesbia 's  rich  but  harsh  contralto.  "You'll  bear  with  her: 
she's  not  very  used  to  company,  and  she's  had  much  of 
late  to  sour  her  temper — God  pardon  her,  it  wasn't  ever 
very  sweet!" 

"Oh,  I'll  forgive  her,"  said  Dodo,  "she  means  well." 

She  sat  down  and  looked  about  her.  Half  sad,  half  sweet, 
and  piercingly  keen  was  the  sense  of  intimacy  with  Auburn 
that  came  upon  her  in  this  trim  kitchen,  so  vividly  colored 
by  red  of  tiles,  white  of  curtains  and  blackness  of  oaken 
beams.  Details  of  Lesbia 's  evidence  at  the  trial  came  back 
to  her  mind.  Here  Auburn  had  appeared,  fresh  from  his 
quarrel  with  Sir  Charles,  on  that  eventful  night :  Jeannie 's 
oaken  settle  had  been  his  bed,  Lesbia 's  snowy  deal  his  table 
in  the  next  morning's  sunlight.  Moreover,  the  room  had 
known  him  as  child  and  boy,  in  every  mood :  it  was  pene 
trated  by  memories  of  his  vigorous  life.  At  length  Dodo 
roused  herself,  to  find  Lesbia  regarding  her  with  eyes  a 
shade  less  hostile,  for  the  meaning  of  that  silence  had  not 
been  overlooked. 

"See  now,  Lesbia:  I've  been  wanting  to  come  and  talk 
to  you  for  a  long  while,  but  I  was  not  free  so  long  as  my 
father  was  alive.  He  needed  me,  and  I  owed  him  a  duty. 
He  died  in  June — "  Dodo  said  it  steadily,  but  with  an 
effort;  she  could  not  grow  used  to  the  truth — "and  since 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

then  we  have  had  all  the  bother  of  turning  out  of  the  Vicar 
age  and  settling  our  affairs.  This  is  my  first  free  day. 
I  want  to  talk  to  you  frankly,  but  you  must  meet  me  in  the 
same  spirit:  if  you  aren't  going  to  believe  me,  it  is  no 
good." 

"Let  her  alone,"  said  Jeannie  mischievously:  "she  sees 
she  was  wrong,  but  she'll  never  own  it." 

"All  right,"  said  Dodo.  Lesbia,  who  was  thrown  out 
by  this  droll  amiability,  stirred  her  pot  in  a  hard  silence. 
"As  I  tell  you,  we're  all  turning  out  of  the  Vicarage.  My 
brothers  are  scattered:  they  don't  want  me — at  least,  they 
don't  need  me.  I  have  no  binding  ties  now,  except  the  one : 
and  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  go  and  live  near  Charles." 

"Near ?" 

"Near  Charles:  near  Princetown." 

Lesbia  turned  round,  and  the  lid  of  her  saucepan  rolled 
on  the  floor  with  a  clatter.  "Near  Mr.  Charles?"  she 
echoed.  "You?" 

"Quite  near  him." 

"What  for,  in  the  name  of  goodness?" 

"What  for?  why,  surely  it's  a  very  natural  feeling?" 

An  inaudible  muttering  was  all  the  answer  Lesbia  gave. 
Jeannie 's  interpretation  threw  not  the  most  charitable  light 
upon  it. 

"Don't  you  mind  her — she's  only  vexed  she  didn't  think 
of  it  herself.  It's  a  beautiful  idea,  and  truly  poetic!" 

"Dartmoor  is  very  fine,  you  know,"  Dodo  explained. 
"It  is  lovely  country,  and  the  air's  a  tonic.  Artists  go 
there  to  paint  a  good  deal.  My  idea  was  to  rent  a  small 
house  within  reach  of  Princetown,  and  I  thought  very  pos 
sibly  you  would  come  down  and  join  forces  with  me." 

"I  wish,"  Lesbia  said,  "somebody  would  tell  me  whether 
I'm  standing  on  my  heels  or  my  head!" 

She  sat  down  on  a  wooden  chair  and  looked  earnestly  at 
Dodo.  "What  is  it  you  have  in  your  mind,  child?  Is  it 
Ruth's  words  you're  thinking  of?" 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  225 

' 'Perhaps  it  is.  'Where  thou  diest  I  will  die,  and  there 
will  I  be  buried.'  I'm  afraid,  you  know,  he  won't  live  to 
come  out. ' ' 

"He's  strong  enough!"  Lesbia  exclaimed. 

"Yes,  he's  very  strong  physically." 

"They  don't  starve,  nor  yet  mishandle  them." 

"No.  But  confinement  is  trying  when  you're  not  used 
to  it.  Besides,  the  uniform  diet  comes  hard  on  a  man  like 
Charles,  tall  and  healthy  and  hungry.  It  is  all  very  well 
for  a  sickly  city-bred  thief,  but  for  an  athletic  man  who  has 
fared  sumptuously  all  his  life  it  is  systematic  under 
feeding.  ' ' 

A  heavy  sigh  was  Lesbia 's  only  comment. 

"So  that  I  don't  suppose  he  is  as  strong  as  when  he  went 
in,"  said  Dodo  steadily.  "There's  the  heat  too.  Charles 
can't  stand  heat.  Think  what  those  cells  must  be  like,  in 
this  weather!" 

"You've  thought  of  all  that  too,  have  you?" 

' '  Do  you  think  Charles  would  have  given  all  he  did  give 
to  a  woman  who  didn't  care  for  him?" 

"There's  no  end  to  the  fool  a  man  will  be  when  he's  in 
love.  You're  pretty." 

"Ah!  very,"  said  Jeannie,  throwing  out  her  hand.  Dodo 
held  it. 

"I'm  not  so  pretty  as  plenty  of  other  women  he  must 
have  known.  I  wasn't  rich:  I  wasn't  well  dressed.  No: 
he  liked  me  because  he  knew — that  is,  I  don't  think  he 
realized  it  himself,  but  something  in  him  knew — that  there 
was  in  me  something  strong  and  durable,  which  he  could 
rely  on.  Lesbia,  I  will  not  let  him  die  in  prison." 

"You  harp  so  on  dying,"  Lesbia  said  fretfully,  "but 
it'll  take  more  than  heat  and  under-feeding  to  kill  my 
boy." 

"Yes,"  said  Jeannie,  "heat  of  anger  and  hunger  of  heart, 
loneliness  and  wakeful  nights,  shame  and  insults  and 
degradation,  and  nothing  to  look  forward  to  but  the  grave 


226  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

or  middle  age — it'll  take  all  that  to  kill  your  boy,  Lesbia, 
and  he's  got  it." 

"No  degradation." 

"Not  for  one  of  our  class:  but  is  there  none  for  a 
gentleman?" 

"No,"  said  Dodo,  white  and  dauntless.  "You  can't  de 
grade  an  innocent  man." 

"Maybe  not;  but  you  can  make  him  feel  degraded,  and 
that  to  the  very  dust." 

"Quiet,  Jeannie,"  said  Lesbia  roughly.  "The  child  is 
right,  and  long  I've  known  it.  Yet  I  don't  think  he'll  die." 
She  bent  her  deep  eyes  on  Dodo,  and  shook  her  head. 
"He's  got  too  good  stuff  in  him  to  die — my  boy." 

"Oh,  he  won't  die  of  a  broken  heart,"  said  Dodo  scorn 
fully.  "That's  not  the  way.  But  when  your  constitu 
tion's  thoroughly  lowered,  and  your  hold  on  life  is  weak, 
you  catch  a  cold  or  you  get  an  indigestion,  and  it  kills 
you." 

"And  if  he  were  to  die,"  Lesbia  asked  pertinently, 
' '  what  good  would  it  do  to  him  to  have  you  living  in  a  cot 
tage  half  a  mile  away?  You  couldn't  see  him." 

"Why  not  ?  Any  one  walking  along  the  high  road  can  see 
the  convicts  in  the  quarries  or  on  the  farm." 

"But  what  good  would  that  do  to  the  pair  of  you!" 

1 '  Charles  will  like  to  know  I  'm  near. ' ' 

"H'm:  Charles  is  not  just  a  fool,  my  dear." 

"Lesbia  thinks  you're  not  giving  her  the  bottom  of  your 
sack,"  Jeannie  pointed  out.  Dodo  threw  back  her  head 
and  looked  from  one  to  the  other  with  cool  unreadable  eyes. 

"I  haven't  any  home,  and  I  want  to  be  near  Charles," 
she  said  steadily.  "There's  nothing  very  queer  in  that,  so 
far  as  I  can  see.  At  all  events,  I  'm  going  whether  you  two 
come  or  not — the  only  question  is,  will  you  come  ? ' ' 

Twice  Lesbia  unclosed  her  lips  to  speak,  and  twice  she 
closed  them.  At  length  she  said  slowly,  "I  don't  know 
what  you  mean,  and  what's  more  I  don't  want  to  know. 


AN    ORDEAL    OF   HONOR  227 

You've  got  some  maggot  in  your  head,  I  suppose:  mind  it 
don't  grow  to  a  serpent,  to  turn  and  sting  you.  Now  let's 
hear  more  about  this  notion  of  yours.  Where's  the  money 
to  come  from?  I'm  not  a  rich  woman.  I've  got  a  bit  put 
by,  and  I  earn  a  bit  more  by  taking  in  washing,  and  so  we 
make  both  ends  meet,  but  then  I  pay  no  rent — this  house 
is  my  own.  I  doubt  I  couldn't  get  much  washing  to  do  on 
Dartmoor.  I  couldn't  pay  my  way,  and  I  never  heard  you 
had  much." 

"I  have  plenty,"  said  Dodo. 

She  waited  a  moment.  "When  Charles  thought  he  was 
going  to  die,  he  made  his  will.  Auburn  of  course  had  to  go 
to  the  next  of  kin,  and  the  Auburn  money  with  it:  but 
there  was  a  good  deal  that  had  been  Lady  Auburn's,  and 
this  came  into  his  power.  He  left  it  all  to  me.  Later,  after 
the  reprieve,  he  destroyed  the  will  and  drew  up  a  deed  of 
gift  instead,  so  that  the  money  is  mine  absolutely.  Hitherto 
I  haven't  touched  it,  but  now  I  shall  take  it  and  use  it. 
The  boys — I  mean  my  brothers — will  make  a  fuss,  but  Mr. 
Carew  will  back  me  up,  he's  dying  to  get  it  off  his  hands. 
It  will  amply  cover  our  expenses." 

"But,  you  little  thing,"  Lesbia  said,  between  vexation 
and  humor,  "I  can't  live  on  you!" 

"Why  not?  You're  coming  with  me  at  my  request. 
Surely  you  and  I  ought  not  to  let  ourselves  be  troubled  by 
scruples  of  that  kind?" 

"No,  no,"  said  Lesbia,  "I've  never  eaten  the  bread  of 
charity  yet,  and  I'm  over  old  to  begin.  I  doubt  my 
stomach's  not  strong  enough  to  keep  it  down.  If  I  come, 
I'll  earn  my  keep.  What '11  you  pay  your  servant?" 

"I  didn't  mean  to  have  a  servant." 

"No  servant!" 

"No:  I  thought  we  could  manage  for  ourselves." 

"Good:  that  settles  it,"  said  Lesbia  after  a  short  pause. 
"Ill  be — what  do  you  call  it? — cook-general  for  you,  and 
that'll  cover  my  board  and  lodging.  There's  Jeannie  to  be 


228  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

fixed  up  now,  though,"  she  added,  with  a  short  laugh. 
"What '11  you  do  to  earn  your  dinner,  Jean — mend  the 
clothes?" 

Jeannie  sat  up  with  her  hands  clasped  round  her  knees, 
the  greenish  tint  predominating  in  her  curiously  shot  hazel 
eyes.  Most  of  those  who  knew  the  sisters — Auburn  him 
self  included — looked  on  Jeannie  as  a  frailer  copy  of  her 
eccentric  senior :  but  they  were  wrong.  Lesbia  acted  much 
on  impulse,  Jeannie  rarely:  Lesbia 's  judgment  was  often 
colored  by  her  passions,  Jeannie  was  deficient  in  passion 
but  dowered  with  a  slightly  inhuman  critical  faculty,  which 
made  her  dry  ridicule  quite  as  hard  to  bear — for  one  who 
felt  it — as  Lesbia 'a  ireful  storms.  There  was  more  than  a 
dash  of  mockery  in  the  glance  that  dwelt  on  Dodo 's  tranquil 
face. 

"I  shall  think  my  dinner  handsomely  earned  by  coming 
near  the  place,"  she  said  coolly.  "A  madder  scheme  I  never 
heard  of:  but  it's  ill  preaching  to  those  whose  minds  are 
made  up.  If  you  two  ladies  are  set  to  go,  I  suppose  I  must 
make  up  my  mind  to  tramp  after  you:  but  mind,  don't  say 
I  didn't  warn  you!  There's  such  a  thing  as  letting  ill 
alone  lest  you  make  it  worse. ' ' 

"Don't  I  know  that?  It's  a  thing  people  are  very  good 
at  doing." 

"You'll  never  meet  with  one  that  loves  him  better  than 
Mr.  Carew." 

"Mr.  Carew?  I  am  sick  of  Mr.  Carew!"  Dodo  broke 
out.  "Oh,  he  loved  him,  yes — in  his  honest  conventional 
way.  I  do  believe  this  business  has  half  spoiled  his  life. 
But  he  has  a  profound  reverence  for  constitutional  author 
ity.  If  the  law  calls  you  guilty,  guilty  you  are :  and  if  the 
law  were  to  stretch  a  cord  across  your  path  he'd  think  it 
nothing  less  than  impiety  if  you  were  to  dive  under  it 
and " 

"Hush,  now!"  Lesbia  lifted  her  hand.  "Don't  you  say 
one  syllable  more,  child,  of  that  sort  of  thing  or " 


AN    ORDEAL    OF   HONOR  229 

"Or  what!" 

"Or,"  supplemented  Jeannie  the  mischievous,  "Lesbia 
won't  be  able  to  come  with  you  to  Dartmoor  1" 


XXIV. 

THE  mountain  railway  that  crawls,  a  noble  feat  of 
engineering,  upward  inch  by  inch  from  low-lying 
Yelverton  to  the  intractable  moor-fortress  of  Princetown, 
calls  on  its  way  at  Horraf  ord  Eoad ;  and  there,  one  evening 
late  in  August,  Dodo  Carminow,  Lesbia  Burnet,  and  Jean 
Armstrong  descended  from  the  train. 

There  was  no  cab  to  be  had,  but  after  some  trouble  Dodo 
beat  up  a  carter  going  their  way  who  would  take  Jeannie 
and  the  luggage,  and  with  that  they  had  to  be  content.  The 
road  wound  away  uphill,  the  cart  jogged  on  soberly,  its 
wheels  creaking  over  the  ruts,  and  Jeannie,  tired  out  by  her 
journey,  sat  in  a  corner  half  asleep :  the  carter  walked  be 
side  his  horse,  whistling  some  tuneless  jingle  to  which  the 
brass  ornaments  on  the  harness  tinkled  an  accompaniment. 
Lesbia  and  Dodo  trudged  along,  side  by  side,  through  the 
gathering  dusk. 

Soon  they  came  out  upon  the  open  moor.  It  was  a  warm 
night,  because  overcast,  and  through  a  lattice-work  of  dark 
cloud  the  great  arch  of  the  west  still  glowed  like  a  furnace, 
throwing  not  a  light,  but  a  redness  of  shadow,  over  the  dark 
ocean  of  the  tors.  Like  waves  they  rose  up :  heathenishly 
old  they  looked,  yet  unreposeful  in  their  age,  although  each 
rushing  ascent  was  topped  with  such  a  castellation  of 
granite  as  should  have  served  to  keep  all  dead  gods  buried. 
There  was  enough  wind  to  make  a  sound  of  moaning  in  the 
air.  At  length  the  tired  travelers  came  upon  the  lights  of 
a  hamlet  sparkling  out  of  a  rift  in  the  moor  below  them : 
this  was  Menval,  stranded  in  the  heart  of  Dartmoor,  mid 
way  between  Horraford  and  Princetown.  A  side-road, 

230 


AN    ORDEAL   OF   HONOR  281 

steep  and  stony,  branched  off  past  a  few  scattered  cottages 
and  a  tiny  Dissenting  chapel,  over  a  bridge  where  brawled, 
loudly  musical  in  the  evening  quiet,  a  rushing  and  clear 
brook  out  of  the  hills,  and  thence  upward  again  along  a 
straggling  village  street,  till  at  length  the  cart  pulled  up 
before  a  wicket-gate  and  their  guide  turned  to  Lesbia,  point 
ing  with  his  whip,  "There  you  be,  my  dear,"  said  he. 

While  Lesbia  looked  to  Jeannie,  Dodo  walked  up  the  path 
between  thickets  of  lavender,  which  she  could  smell  though 
she  could  not  see  them,  and  let  herself  in.  She  had  ar 
ranged  with  a  woman  from  Menval  to  light  a  fire  and  take 
in  provisions,  but  Mrs.  Lee  had  gone  home,  and  Heather 
Cottage  was  empty  and  dark.  Having  never  seen  it  but 
once,  Dodo  made  haste  to  light  a  lamp  in  the  hall  and  to 
survey  her  small  domain.  The  late  tenants,  an  artist  and 
his  wife  named  Carpenter,  had  built  the  place  for  a  sketch 
ing  retreat  and  got  tired  of  it,  and  Dodo  had  taken  it  over 
as  it  stood,  with  all  its  quaint,  irritating  furniture :  ingle- 
nook  hearths  where  most  of  the  fire 's  heat  went  up  the  great 
shaft  of  the  chimney,  a  Dutch  dresser  in  the  prim  parlor, 
and  grandfathers'  clocks  in  every  room.  A  fat  Eve  toyed 
with  a  lean  Adam  on  the  kitchen  door :  both  gave  a  remark 
able  impression  of  impropriety,  and  also,  truth  to  tell,  of 
bad  drawing.  Dodo  could  not  but  wonder  what  would  be 
Lesbia 's  verdict  on  Mr.  Carpenter's  conscientious  nudes. 

Front  parlor,  back  parlor,  kitchen — so  much  for  the 
ground  floor :  Dodo  ran  upstairs.  The  large  room  over  the 
front  parlor,  with  space  for  two  beds  if  necessary,  was  to  be 
for  Lesbia,  the  smaller  one  behind  it  for  herself :  the  third, 
then,  must  be  Jeannie 's  room.  It  looked  southwards  over 
Cornwall,  where  far  off,  low  and  bright  in  a  gap  of  the 
hills,  one  could  distinguish  the  light  of  Eddystone  Light 
house  winking  dimly  through  the  dusk.  Far  other  was  the 
prospect  from  Dodo's  own  chamber.  Northwards  the  hills 
lay  huddled,  peak  behind  peak,  and  the  clouds  that  were 
bowed  over  them  caught  a  faint  gloom  from  the  windows  of 


AN  ORDEAL  OF  HONOR 

Princetown  Prison,  barely  a  mile  away.  Dodo  threw  open 
her  casement  and  leaned  out,  bathing  herself  in  the  night 
wind  as  once  before  in  the  wind  of  early  dawn.  The  years 
that  had  seemed  so  long  in  the  looking  forward  had  slipped 
away  fast,  and  her  probation  was  over :  she  was  free  to  do 
as  she  would  with  her  own  life.  "God  keep  you,  my  dar 
ling,"  she  said.  "I  can't  realize  that  you're  really  there, 
Charles,  reading  in  your  cell  by  one  of  those  lights,  barely 
a  mile  away.  God  help  us  both,  and  give  me  courage  to  go 
on.  Ah !  my  lover,  if  you  only  knew " 

For  Auburn  did  not  know :  nor  did  any  one  else  outside 
Dodo's  own  small  immediate  circle.  "When  she  turned  her 
back  on  Stanton  Mere  for  ever,  she  contrived  to  leave  be 
hind  her  an  impression  that  she  was  going  to  stay  with  her 
brother  for  the  present,  and  that  her  plans  for  the  future 
were  unfixed.  She  gave  no  other  address  than  that  of 
Roden's  tiny  flat  in  town.  Grace  Trevor,  vexed,  troubled, 
but  loyal,  was  her  sole  'Confidante.  The  rest  of  Stanton 
Mere  had  never  taken  much  interest  in  Dodo,  and  was, 
moreover,  busy  with  the  advent  of  a  young  and  unmar 
ried  parson  in  Mr.  Carminow's  place. 

Dodo  had,  in  fact,  made  Roden's  flat  her  headquarters 
for  a  week  or  two,  while  she  clinched  the  bargain  with  the 
artistic  Carpenters  and  completed  her  arrangements  with 
Lesbia.  That  done,  she  left  him — sorely  against  his  will: 
and  thenceforward  Dodo  Carmmow  ceased  to  exist,  and 
Dorothea  Chasten  came  into  being.  Chaston  was  her  own 
second  Christian  name.  "I  think  I'm  rather  too  much  of 
a  public  character,"  she  explained  to  her  protesting  family. 
"My  photograph  was  in  all  the  halfpenny  papers,  you 
know,  and  most  of  the  penny  ones.  Some  one  at  Prince- 
town  would  be  sure  to  have  heard  of  me  if  I  came  on  the 
scene  in  my  own  person :  and  I  do  not  think  it  is  nice  for  a 
modest  young  woman  to  figure  so  prominently  in  the  glare 
of  notoriety. ' '  There  was  wisdom  in  this,  as  they  were  all 
driven  grudgingly  to  admit :  if  she  must  needs  go  off  on  a 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  233 

wild-goose-chase,  it  was  as  well  that  she  should  drop  her  old 
individuality.  Her  position  if  she  were  recognized  would 
be  hard. 

A  wild-goose-chase  was,  however,  too  mild  a  term  to  be 
used  till  all  other  resources  of  language  had  failed. 
Idiocy;  raving  madness;  criminal  folly:  these  were  Ber 
nard's  words.  Car  on,  less  militant,  contented  himself  with 
calling  her  a  sentimental  baby.  Even  Dickie  thought  her 
action  rather  rot:  while  Roden,  saying  little  and  looking 
less,  was  the  hardest  to  cope  with  of  all.  The  others  resented 
her  whim  only  because  it  was  a  whim,  eccentric,  silly,  and 
expensive,  and  because  the  carrying  out  of  it  involved  the 
acceptance  of  Auburn's  money,  which  stung  their  pride: 
but  what  Roden  thought  Dodo  could  not  tell.  She  had  at 
this  time  little  clue  to  Roden 's  thoughts. 

For  Roden  was  changed.  When  they  came  out  of  the 
first  preoccupation  of  sorrow,  they  all  saw  it:  and  the 
change  went  deeper  than  Indian  suns  or  even  Indian  fever 
ought  to  have  gone.  Those  might  account  for  the  fact  that 
he  was  pale  and  thin,  and  that  the  inveterate  talker  was 
given  to  fits  of  silence,  and  the  sweetest  temper  in  the 
family  to  fits  of  irritation:  but  they  would  not  cover  his 
permanent  languid  want  of  interest  in  every  one  and  every 
thing,  his  own  career  included.  Even  the  news  that  he  was 
appointed  to  an  excellent  billet  in  the  War  Office  only  drew 
from  him  the  remark  that  he  had  a  good  mind  to  chuck  the 
whole  thing  and  get  out  of  it.  Clear-eyed  Grace  observed 
all  this  and  spoke  of  it  to  Dodo.  "I  think,"  she  said, 
"  Roddy  has  some  trouble  in  his  life  that  neither  you  nor  I 
know  anything  about.  Perhaps  it  is  a  woman. ' ' 

"I've  thought  the  same  thing,"  said  Dodo  gravely:  and 
then  the  subject  dropped,  for  there  was  nothing  to  be  done. 
Roden  was  in  no  mood  to  be  questioned,  and  least  of  all  by 
Dodo.  It  is  a  trite  observation  that  the  wall  of  shyness 
rises  highest  between  those  who  love  each  other  most  dearly  : 
and  Dickie,  who  was  stupid,  or  Bernard,  who  was  genu- 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

inely  uninterested,  had  more  of  Roden's  confidence  at  this 
time  than  his  sister.  Dodo  grieved  over  this  alienation. 

Yet  it  had,  for  her,  its  advantages.  The  old  Roden  would 
have  been  far  harder  to  deal  with.  Even  as  it  was,  she  did 
not  breathe  freely  till  she  was  in  the  train  for  the  south :  she 
dreaded  up  to  the  last  moment  the  piercing  keenness  of 
Roden's  eyes  and  the  quick  cut  and  thrust  of  hard  speech 
that  could  not  be  parried.  But,  whatever  his  thoughts 
might  have  been,  he  had  said  nothing,  unless  his  closing 
words  were  to  be  taken  as  a  warning:  "Mind  you  don't 
get  into  mischief.  Who  breaks,  doesn't  always  pay." 

Dodo  did  not  mean  to  have  any  breakages.  Just  as  she 
had  contrived  to  leave  Stanton  Mere  happy  in  ignorance  of 
her  movements,  so  she  made  her  appearance  at  Menval 
without  giving  grounds  for  gossip.  She  paid  her  rent  in 
advance,  and  used  Sir  George  Trevor's  name  as  a  reference. 
She  was  the  daughter  of  a  country  clergyman,  for  whose 
death  she  was  in  mourning :  her  home  had  been  broken  up, 
and  her  brothers  were  scattered :  she  was  a  trifle  run  down, 
and  thought  it  would  do  her  good  to  live  for  a  while  in  the 
bracing  air  of  Dartmoor.  If  she  liked  the  place,  she  might 
stay  on  for  some  months,  while  she  was  looking  about  her. 
By  way  of  chaperon  she  was  bringing  a  very  superior  sort 
of  maid — an  old  family  servant,  who  was  very  much  at 
tached.  She  meant  to  be  out  all  day  on  the  moors,  walking, 
riding,  sketching,  leading  the  simple  life.  "It  was  very 
lonely?"  Oh!  that  was  nothing  to  her — she  could  not  go 
into  formal  society  during  her  mourning,  she  did  not  want 
to  do  so:  if  the  vicar's  wife,  the  doctor's  wife,  and  the  gov 
ernor's  wife  would  call  upon  her  she  would  be  fully  content. 
All  these  details  did  Dodo  contrive  to  let  fall  or  imply  in 
the  course  of  her  single  interview  with  Mr.  Carpenter,  who, 
having  no  reason  to  think  of  doubting  them,  not  only  gave 
them  currency  in  the  neighborhood,  but  stamped  them  with 
the  sanction  of  his  own  incurious  trust.  Thus  the  surprise 
of  her  arrival  was  discounted  beforehand,  and  all  the  ques- 


AN   ORDEAL    OF   HONOR  285 

tions  were  answered  which  might  have  gone  buzzing  round 
that  slight,  curly-haired  figure. 

When  Dodo  reached  Menval,  she  was  in  hourly  expecta 
tion  of  her  quarterly  letter  from  Auburn.  That  it  was 
already  overdue  she  explained  by  the  fact  that  it  would 
have  to  go  to  Eoden  first.  Next  day  she  went  to  meet  the 
postman,  but  he  brought  her  only  a  sheet  from  Grace.  She 
came  back  and  found  Lesbia,  silent  and  grim,  cleaning  the 
house  down  to  assert  her  contempt  for  the  dirty  ways  of  all 
artist  folk,  while  Jeannie  lay  on  three  chairs  in  the  dis 
mantled  kitchen  and  jeered  at  her.  Dodo,  clad  in  a  sum 
mer  black  muslin  and  an  exquisite  little  straw  hat  with  a 
French-sweeping  plume,  paused  on  the  threshold. 

"Lesbia." 

"Well?" 

"Can  I  do  any  messages  for  you  in  Princetown?" 

Lesbia  halted,  leaning  on  her  broom.  "Are  you  going, 
up  to  Princetownf" 

"Yes." 

"What  for?" 

"To  get  some  shoe-laces." 

"I  can  spare  you  the  walk,"  said  Jeannie.  "I  have 
some." 

"Quiet,  Jean!"  said  Lesbia  angrily.  "No,  I  don't  want 
anything."  She  added  after  a  moment,  "Maybe  I'll  walk 
up  myself  some  time  this  evening." 

It  was  a  glorious  day  and  a  glorious  scene :  the  air,  warm 
yet  nimble,  bathing  in  a  blue  glow  all  those  leagues  of  fiery 
gorse  and  wine-dark  heather,  while  the  rock-battlemented 
tors  rose  up  barrenly  defined  against  the  azure,  and  in  the 
swarded  rifts  between  them  shallow  watercourses  lay  spread 
out  in  patches  of  dampness  that  glittered  like  sun-smitten 
steel.  For  all  Dodo  cared,  it  might  have  been  Clapham 
Common  on  a  rainy  day.  She  had  acquired  of  late  the  habit 
of  intense,  abstracted  thought,  which  deadens  observation. 
At  length,  however,  she  gained  the  high  road,  and  the  im- 


236  AN   ORDEAL   OF   HONOR 

mediate  scenery  grew  less  wild:  scattered  cottages,  each 
with  its  patch  of  cultivated  ground,  rose  by  the  wayside. 
Skirting  the  border  of  a  wooded  hill,  she  came  on  a  village 
that  lay  off  along  a  road  to  the  right,  and  in  the  midst  of 
which  rose  up,  like  some  great  factory,  an  immense  block  of 
drab  buildings  enclosed  in  a  high  wall.  It  was  Princetown 
Prison. 

Imagination  is  a  weak  thing.  It  needed  that  grey  hell, 
those  rows  of  barred  windows,  to  bring  home  to  Dodo  the 
horror  of  prison  life.  She  had  trained  herself  to  believe 
that  under  modern  civilization  prison  life  has  no  horror, 
but  the  sight  of  that  ugly  unfeatured  place,  where  nearly  a 
thousand  prisoners  were  packed  together,  undeceived  her. 
Nowadays,  indeed,  chains  and  the  lash  play  no  part  in  the 
life  of  the  average  prisoner,  but  in  their  stead  men  suffer 
unutterable  tedium  and  monotony  and  mournful  degrada 
tion,  so  that  an  attempt  at  suicide  is  no  rare  thing  in  any 
great  convict  establishment.  "And  Charles  so  keen  on 
yachting!"  was  the  thought  that  darted  into  Dodo's  mind, 
bringing  the  saddest  of  smiles  to  her  lips.  She  could  feel 
the  passions  and  the  miseries  of  the  place  striking  out 
across  the  sunlit  air,  and  blackening  it. 

There  lay  the  prison,  and  there,  in  the  fields  of  the  home 
farm  below,  Dodo  had  her  first  sight  of  the  prisoners  them 
selves.  They  were  making  hay,  the  late  hay  crop  of  Dart 
moor,  at  no  great  distance  from  the  road,  and  Dodo  placed 
herself  beside  a  couple  of  sightseers  from  the  village,  who 
were  leaning  over  the  stone  coping  of  the  highway  to  watch 
them:  small  figures  of  men  in  drab  jackets  and  breeches 
and  queer  conical  caps,  toiling  slowly  and  mechanically 
under  the  surveillance  of  warders  mounted  or  afoot,  armed 
with  bayonets  or  rifles.  Work  is  a  good  and  honorable  thing 
so  long  as  it  is  free,  but  these  men  were  not  free,  and  their 
forced  and  languid  labor  added  the  last  bitterness  of  dreari 
ness  to  the  dreary  scene.  The  sightseers  from  Princetown 
found  it  full  of  interest. 


AN    ORDEAL   OF   HONOR  237 

"Uncle,  what  are  those  funny  little  things  like  pepper 
boxes?"  asked  the  younger  of  the  two,  nodding  towards  the 
prison  wall. 

"  Look-out  places,  my  dear,  where  the  civil  guard  are  on 
duty  in  case  any  o'  those  beauties  should  take  it  into  their 
'eads  to  cut  and  run." 

" But  do  they  ever?" 

"Oftener  than  what  you'd  think  for,  especially  in  the 
autumn  when  the  fogs  are  on.  I  don't  know  what  they 
expect  to  get  by  it  more  than  a  bullet  in  their  legs. ' ' 

"Don't  they  ever  get  away?  How  stupid  of  them  to  go 
on  trying!  What's  the  punishment  for  trying  to  escape?" 

"Bread  and  water  and  the  lock-up,  and  a  kind  of  clothes 
like  a  clown  at  a  pantymine:  they  used  to  get  a  floggin', 
but  that's  near  done  away  with  now — more's  the  pity! 
We're  too  tender  with  'em  by  'arf,  seems  to  me." 

"Do  they  all  work  on  the  farm?" 

"Bless  you,  no!  lots  of  'em  work  in  the  shops — indoor 
work,  that  is;  and  some  are  put  to  reclaimin'  the  bog-land, 
or  road-makin',  but  that's  only  the  good-conduc'  men.  Lots 
of  'em  work  in  the  quarries,  too.  See  there,  down  the  road, 
that  'igh  wall?  inside  there's  the  quarries."  It  was  in  the 
quarries  that  Auburn,  so  far  as  Dodo  knew,  was  at  work. 
' '  They  've  dug  an  'ole  under  the  road  now  so 's  they  can  get 
to  the  quarries  without  people  starin'  at  'em.  Oh,  they're 
uncommon  tender  with  'em,  they  are — a  lot  o'  brutes  like 
that!  If  I  'ad  my  way " 

"You  wouldn't  hurt  a  fly,  uncle,"  declared  the  girl 
prettily.  She  slipped  her  hand  through  his  arm.  "Let's 
go  back  to  the  hotel,  I  don't  like  being  so  near  them." 

She  drew  him  away,  and  Dodo  was  left  alone  in  the  blind 
ing  sunlight.  A  little  way  off  there  was  a  place  where  the 
road  on  either  side  was  screened  by  a  dense  coppice,  and 
Dodo  plunged  into  it,  forcing  her  way  through  the  hazels 
and  hollies  till  she  was  free  from  observation:  and  there, 
if  it  had  been  to  save  her  own  life  or  Auburn's,  she  could 


238  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

not  have  held  back  the  fit  of  strong  crying  that  came  on  her. 
She  sat  down  on  a  fallen  trunk  and  hid  her  face  in  her 
handkerchief,  afraid  that  her  sobs  would  be  heard  from  the 
road,  weeping  as  she  had  not  wept  since  the  night  of  the 
reprieve — convulsed,  disfigured,  suffocating.  Her  agony — 
it  was  no  less — endured  some  ten  minutes  and  left  her  tired 
and  cold. 

Dodo's  tears  were  not  of  the  kind  that  sap  resolution. 
When  she  had  mastered  herself  and  drawn  down  her  black 
veil  she  slipped  back  to  the  road,  passed  the  quarries  with 
out  a  second  glance  (strange  as  it  was  to  think  that  Auburn 
was  probably  within  earshot),  and  went  on  by  the  great 
wall  of  the  prison  itself  and  the  gateway  overspanned  by 
so  wise  a  motto :  PARCERE  SUBJECTIS.  In  the  thick  summer 
dust  she  saw  the  print  of  many  prisoners'  feet,  each 
stamped  with  the  broad  arrow,  and  knew  that  one  of  those 
footmarks  showed  where  her  lover  had  trod.  A  little  farther 
on  she  came  to  the  church,  enclosed  in  its  own  God's-acre, 
and  went  into  the  churchyard  for  a  sight  of  the  graves.  On 
one  side  lay  the  honored  dead,  their  names  preserved  on 
cross  or  headstone  for  the  love  of  those  to  whom  they  had 
been  dear :  weak  and  vain  effort  of  man  to  struggle  against 
the  iniquity  of  oblivion!  On  the  other  side  lay  the  dis 
honored  dead.  No  doubt  they  slept  as  quietly,  but  for  them, 
even  in  this  place  of  universal  amnesty,  there  was  in  the 
majority  of  cases  no  cross  in  token  of  forgiveness,  no  name, 
no  date.  There  they  lay  in  the  sunshine,  in  rows  of  name 
less  mounds,  and  the  grass  flourished  over  them,  and  the 
wind  made  music  from  it:  dust  returning  to  dust,  unre- 
gretted  and  unremembered.  It  was  in  this  terrible  church 
yard  that  Dodo  woke  from  her  overwhelming  oppression  of 
pain  to  a  tenfold  hardened  strength  of  purpose.  "Innocent 
men  don't  live  twenty  years  in  those  quarries,"  she  said  to 
herself.  "If  he  is  left  in  prison  he'll  die,  and  they'll  bury 
him  under  one  of  those  mounds,  and  he  and  his  memory  will 
perish  here  together.  He  shall  not  die  in  prison." 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

' '  Leabia,  where  are  you  ?    Has  my  letter  come  ? ' ' 

Lesbia  had  gone  upstairs  to  tidy  herself,  after  her  ener 
getic  spring-cleaning.  She  came  into  the  kitchen  now,  and 
picked  up  Dodo's  hat,  and  veil,  and  gloves,  which  were 
thrown  chanceably  on  different  chairs.  "I  wish  you 
wouldn't  be  for  ever  clutterin'  up  my  kitchen  with  your 
vanities, ' '  she  said.  ' '  What  d  'ye  want  now  ? ' ' 

"Charles'  letter.    Has  it  come?" 

"No,  nor  it's  not  coming:  he's  forgotten  you — or  maybe 
he's  ill  and  can't  write." 

"Don't  you  heed  her,"  said  Jeannie,  coming  into  the 
room  in  time  to  hear  Lesbia 's  last  piece  of  amiability.  ' '  It 
wants  five  minutes  of  one  yet,  and  the  second  post  isn't  in 
till  the  quarter  past.  Have  you  fetched  the  shoe-laces?" 

"What  incarnate  teases  you  both  are !"  said  Dodo,  sitting 
down  on  the  window-seat,  which  looked  sideways  up  the 
road.  ' '  No,  Jeanneton,  I  forgot  the  laces,  and  yes,  Jeanne- 
ton,  I  have  been  crying.  I  know  you  were  just  going  to  ask 
if  I  hadn  't  found  the  dust  very  trying. ' ' 

"Crying,  my  bairn?    What  for?" 

"My  first  sight  of  the  prison  and  the  convicts.  I  saw 
some  of  them  quite  close,  on  their  way  from  the  dairy:  a 
whole  string  walking  two  and  two  with  warders  on  guard. 
I  also  spent  some  time  in  the  prison  churchyard,  and  had 
a  talk  with  Charles'  friend,  Mr.  Rose,  the  chaplain." 

"You  talked  to  him?" 

"Certainly,  why  not?  It's  proper  to  talk  to  a  clergy 
man,  even  if  you  haven't  been  introduced.  He's  coming  to 
see  me  soon.  It  will  be  good  to  hear  some  first-hand  news 
of  Charles." 

"But  you  can't  ask  for  him!"  Lesbia  exclaimed.  Dodo 
laughed  at  her. 

"No,"  she  said,  "I  can't  say,  'Do  you  know  a  convict 
named  Charles  Auburn?'  But  I  can  ask  him  whether  he 
has  any  gentleman  prisoners,  and  whether  it's  true  that 
murderers  give  less  trouble  than  any  other  class.  Dear 


240  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

Lesbia,  did  you  ever  know  a  man  that  didn't  like  talking 
shop?" 

"It's  true:  I'd  forgotten  that  the  boy's  sure  to  be  a 
marked  man,"  Lesbia  admitted.  "But  what  the  better  will 
you  be  for  that?" 

"Pazienza !"  said  Dodo :  "which  is  all  the  Italian  I  know, 
and  means  Patience.  I  am  in  no  hurry,  I'll  wait  a  twelve 
month  if  need  be  to  consolidate  my  position  and  get  a  sure 
footing  among  these  people." 

"What's  the  man  Rose  like?" 

"Small  and  brown  and  trim,  with  dark  blue  eyes  and 
black  hair  and  a  well-cut  suit:  a  vivid  talker,  I  should 
imagine.  He  is  High  Church,  so  you  must  mind  your  p's 
and  q's,  Lesbia:  I  won't  have  him  frightened  off  by  your 
heresies.  I  do  want  to  hear  about  Charles." 

"Well,  I  wonder  if  he's  worth  it!"  was  Jeannie's  com 
ment.  "When  all's  said  and  done,  what  is  he?  Just  a 
man!" 

"An  innocent  man  who  has  had  three  years  of  prison," 

"I'll  wager  it  isn't  pity  you  feel,"  said  Lesbia  with  a 
short  laugh. 

She  stood  by  the  table  and  spoke  on,  bending  her  dark 
eyes  on  Dodo's  face.  "He's  paying  for  the  sins  of  his 
father:  God  knows  that's  a  big  bill,  but  it's  up  to  him  to 
pay  it.  You  and  I  that  loved  him,  we've  got  to  stand  aside 
and  watch  him  suffer :  isn  't  that  it  ? " 

"No,  "said  Dodo. 

"No!  why,  what  can  we  women  do  for  him?" 

"Set  him  free." 

"Now  you're  joking,  Miss  Dodo." 

"Ami?" 

"You're  never  in  earnest?" 

"I  am,  as  you  know  very  well." 

Lesbia  had  long  known  it,  none  the  less  Dodo's  cool 
frankness  took  her  breath  away.  "Whiles  I've  thought 
you  were,  and  whiles  I've  thought  you  couldn't  be,"  she 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  241 

answered,  dropping  her  voice,  though  Dodo  had  spoken  in 
her  normal  tones.  "How  long  have  you  been  planning 
this?" 

"Since  my  first  night  at  home  after  the  trial." 

"It's  midsummer  madness.  Do  you  know  he  may  be 
shot  in  escaping  ? ' ' 

"Better  so  than  die  in  prison:  it's  a  quicker  death.  But 
I  don 't  intend  him  to  fly  in  the  face  of  the  civil  guard,  you 
know." 

"What  do  you  intend,  then?" 

"You'll  see  when  the  time  comes.  I'll  tell  you  this 
much :  the  way  I  mean  Charles  to  escape  is  the  way  a  man 
actually  did  escape,  a  winter  or  two  ago.  What  an  ill- 
developed  Cockney  thief  has  done,  I  imagine  Charles  can 
do." 

"And  did  the  Cockney  get  away?" 

Dodo  shook  her  head. 

"There  it  is,  you  see!  Child,  don't  you  know  that  in 
fifty  years  not  one  prisoner  has  ever  got  away?" 

"Dear  me,  yes !  they  make  a  dash  for  it  four  or  five  times 
in  a  winter,  and  now  and  then  one,  like  my  Cockney,  dodges 
the  hue  and  cry  for  a  couple  of  days,  but  they  never  get  far 
because  they  have  no  one  outside  the  prison  to  help  them. 
My  Cockney  had  no  friends  and  no  money,  and  after  forty- 
eight  hours  on  the  moor  in  the  bitter  winter  weather  he 
gave  himself  up.  A  man  with  convict  things  on,  or  with 
nothing  on  at  all,  is  not  likely  to  get  far!  That  won't  be 
Charles'  case." 

"You  think  you  could  hide  him?" 

"A  twelvemonth,  if  need  were.  Not  a  soul  enters  this 
house  but  you  and  I  and  Jeannie.  It  won't  be  searched, 
for  there'll  be  nothing  whatever  to  connect  us  with  the 
escape. ' ' 

"But  you  couldn't  keep  him  here  for  ever." 

"I  can  till  the  hue  and  cry  has  died  down.  After  that 
we  shall  get  him  away  in  a  closed  motor-car ;  and  the  next 


242  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

step  will  be  Mr.  Carew's  yacht  and  an  island  under  the 
line." 

"You  think  Mr.  Carew'll  help  you?" 

"You  think  Mr.  Carew  will  betray  us!" 

Dodo  laughed.  "If  he  knew  beforehand  he  would  stop 
it  if  he  could,  but  I  shan't  tell  him  till  it's  done.  As  for 
handing  Charles  over  to  the  authorities,  he  may  think  it's 
his  duty,  but  he  certainly  won't  do  it.  He'll  provide  the 
money,  too,  for  of  course  it  will  cost  a  good  deal :  but  he  is 
Charles'  trustee,  you  see,  so  that  through  him  we  can  tap 
Charles'  own  income.  The  yacht's  crew  will  consist  of  him 
and  Charles  and  Piers  Comfrey — it  won't  be  the  first  time 
those  three  have  sailed  together.  The  one  real  difficulty  I 
foresee  will  be  in  getting  Charles  on  board,  but  yachts  are 
privileged  creatures,  and  come  and  go  very  unceremoni 
ously.  Besides,  it  will  be  months  after  the  escape  and 
miles  away  from  it." 

"There's  one  thing  more,"  said  Lesbia  slowly,  "and  a 
pretty  big  thing  too,  to  my  thinking.  How  d'you  make  it 
right  with  your  conscience  to  break  the  law  of  the  land? 
For  law-breaking  it  is,  and  that  goes  against  my  stomach. 
'Obey  such  as  are  set  in  authority.'  ' 

' '  '  For  the  ruler  is  not  a  terror  to  good  works,  but  to  the 
evil,'  "  Dodo  capped  the  quotation.  "But  Charles  has  not 
done  the  evil.  If  he  were  guilty  I  would  not  lift  a  finger  to 
save  him  from  the  gallows.  It  is  because  he 's  innocent  that 
I  am  free  to  save  him :  and  save  him  I  will,  or  die  in  trying. 
Oh !  his  eyes,  that  last  night  in  prison ! ' '  She  put  her  hand 
over  her  own  eyes,  as  if  she  could  not  bear  the  memory  of 
Auburn's  look.  "No,  Lesbia,  no!  Justice  is  above  law." 

' '  Aren  't  you  reckoning  without  your  host  ? ' '  said  Jeannie. 

Her  low  quiet  voice  struck  a  fresh  note  in  the  argument, 
and  they  both  turned  to  her.  "How?"  said  Dodo. 

"  If  he  were  retaken,  you  would  run  the  risk  of  being  sent 
to  jail  for  abetting  his  escape,  to  say  nothing  of  a  scandal 
that  would  ring  all  over  England.  I  don't  know  much  of 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  248 

gentlemen,  and  I'm  not  fond  of  the  breed,  but  they  have 
their  points,  and  I  think  Mr.  Auburn  is  too  much  of  a 
gentleman  to  escape  at  your  risk.  You  may  lay  your  plans, 
Miss  Dorothea — he  '11  refuse. ' ' 

"If  I  gave  him  twelve  hours  to  think  it  over  in,  he'd 
refuse :  I  know  that.  I  shall  not  give  him  twelve  hours,  no, 
nor  one.  I  '11  carry  him  off  his  feet. ' '  Some  spark  of  the 
old  mischief  came  into  Dodo's  eyes,  the  old  rather  wicked 
allurement  which  Auburn  indeed  never  had  been  and  never 
would  be  able  to  withstand.  "Ah!  you  know  Charles  and 
you  know  me,  but  you  don't  know  me  and  Charles.  He'll 
repent  afterwards — I  expect  I  shall  have  a  lively  time  of  it 
with  him:  but  he'll  come.  I  can  whistle  him " 

"Here's  the  post,"  said  Lesbia. 

A  moment  later  Dodo  had  torn  open  a  covering  letter  of 
Roden's  and  taken  from  it  a  sheet  of  prison  paper.  The 
strong,  small,  irregular  writing  had  grown  smaller  and 
blacker  than  ever,  and  the  odd  short  lines — Auburn's  let 
ters  always  looked  like  a  copy  of  verses — zigzagged  errati 
cally  across  the  page :  terse  it  was  and  to  the  point,  as  be 
fitted  a  letter  that  had  to  pass  under  Major  Topham's  gold- 
rimmed  glasses  and  through  the  hands  of  Hugh  Rose. 

"PBINCETOWN," 

August  27th. 

"MY  DEAR  DODO, — I  am  very  sorry  about  Mr.  Car- 
minow's  death.  I  was  sorry  not  to  be  able  to  write  before. 
He's  well  quit  of  it  all,  but  it  is  hard  on  you.  But  I  am 
glad  you  are  leaving  Stanton  Mere.  Roland  came  here  a 
week  ago,  who  told  me  he  saw  you  in  Town  with  Roden, 
looking  blooming.  That  is  far  better  for  you.  Old  scandals 
die  hard  in  the  country,  but  town  memories  are  short.  It 
will  be  a  new  life  for  you,  and  you  must  drop  the  old  one. 
This  is  the  last  letter  you  will  ever  get  from  me. 

"It  is  a  silly  business:  keeps  alive,  or  half  alive,  what 
had  much  better  (for  both  of  us)  be  dead.  I  shall  not  write 
again,  and  you  are  not  to  write  to  me.  If  you  do,  I  will 


244  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

not  read  your  letters.  They  will  be  sent  back  to  you  un 
opened.  Understand,  the  thing  is  done  with  now,  and  you 
are  free.  I  am  certain  you  are  full  as  tired  of  it  as  I  am, 
so  let  us  have  no  more  sentimentalizing  over  the  grave, 
please.  You  will  think  me  an  uncivil  brute,  but  convict 
life  knocks  the  romance  out  of  one  (and  the  manners)  and 
knocks  some  common  sense  in.  So  good-bye. 
"  'Regards  to  all — if  they  care  to  have  them. 

"O.A." 


XXV. 

DODO  locked  up  that  letter  in  her  drawer  and  spoke 
of  it  to  no  one.  It  was  not  the  first  time  that  Auburn 
had  struck  at  her :  probably  it  would  not  be  the  last.  She 
knew  that  what  he  said  was  not  true,  for  if  it  had  been  he 
would  never  have  said  it.  He  was  far  too  chivalrous  to 
throw  a  woman  over  if  he  were  really  tired  of  her.  How 
she  came  by  this  certainty  she  could  not  have  explained: 
she  had  known  him  not  quite  two  months,  and  she  was  per 
suaded  that  she  read  him  to  the  depths  of  his  nature.  Why, 
then,  did  the  letter  cut  so  deep  ?  Partly  because  it  shut  her 
off  altogether  from  communication  with  Auburn,  for  she 
knew  him  too  well  to  dispute  his  orders :  but  chiefly  because, 
though  it  could  not  overthrow  her  certainty  of  his  love,  it 
did  shake  her  confidence  in  her  own  power.  Unforeseen,  it 
reminded  her  how  frail  all  plans  are  that  depend  for  their 
carrying  out  on  the  passivity  of  a  second  human  will. 

No  matter  for  that :  even  when  her  heart  failed  her  she 
never  dreamed  of  turning  back.  She  locked  away  Auburn 's 
letter  and  turned  to  practical  affairs.  She  had  come  pre 
pared  to  play  a  waiting  game,  to  let  time  slip  away  like 
water  rather  than  run  a  needless  risk,  and  her  first  care 
was  to  consolidate  her  position.  With  this  end  in  view  she 
listened  gravely  to  Hugh  Eose's  sermons  (he  was  a  bad 
preacher),  or  carried  into  Menval's  wind-swept  cottages 
the  practical  charity  that  she  had  learned  in  Stanton  Mere. 
She  was  seen  sketching  on  the  moor,  her  dress  trim  and 
suitable,  her  air  composed  and  merry.  Mr.  Rose,  who  was 
greatly  taken  with  her,  sang  her  praises  to  Mrs.  Topham, 
and  by  a  judicious  use  of  what  he  had  heard  from  the 

245 


246  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

Carpenters  about  Sir  George  Trevor,  induced  that  lady  to 
carry  her  gold  card-case  to  Heather  Cottage.  Dodo  soon 
found  herself  adopted  into  the  small  circle  of  Princetown 
society:  the  very  warder  on  guard  at  the  prison  gateway 
learned  to  salute  her  as  she  passed.  It  maddened  Dodo  to 
remember  that  if  he  was  respectful  to  her  Auburn  had  to 
be  equally  respectful  to  him. 

Meanwhile  the  weeks  ran  by,  and  summer  ebbed  into 
autumn.  Dodo  did  not  grudge  this  loss  of  time :  she  was 
like  a  prudent  builder,  who  thinks  no  time  lost  that  is  spent 
on  solidifying  his  foundations.  Now  and  then  she  was 
moved  to  smile  at  the  disproportion  between  means  and 
end,  but  she  kept  the  end  steadily  in  view,  and  she  was  too 
practical  to  chafe  under  the  day  of  small  things.  Hugh 
Rose's  coal-club  and  Mrs.  Topham's  card  case  were  among 
the  many  slight  but  significant  touches  by  which  Dodo 
painted  in  her  portrait  of  a  normal  young  lady  without  a 
care  in  the  world. 

It  was  on  a  late  October  evening  that  the  tide  began  to 
turn. 

Dodo  had  seen  Hugh  Rose  many  times  during  the  inter 
val,  but  her  instincts  of  caution  had  warned  her  to  go  very 
carefully,  and  it  was  not  till  the  night  of  the  Tophams' 
dinner  that  she  entered  into  her  first  intimate  conversation 
with  the  priest,  who  thought  her  a  sweet  and  most  intelli 
gent  young  woman.  He  no  more  suspected  that  their 
pleasant  talk  in  the  conservatory  was  the  bourne  towards 
which  Dodo's  plans  had  been  converging  for  the  last  three 
months,  than  he  recognized  in  her  the  notorious  Dorothea 
Carininow  of  the  Auburn  murder  trial.  He  would  not  have 
believed  it  if  he  had  been  told  so.  No  mystery  hung  round 
Dodo,  she  was  absolutely  the  typical  English  girl :  it  was 
impossible  to  conceive  of  her  in  any  unique  or  tragic  rela 
tion.  Her  foothold,  so  far,  was  secure. 

In  the  Tophams'  big  double  drawing-room  Major  Top- 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  247 

ham  was  drinking  coffee  on  the  hearth-rug  and  conversing 
with  the  Chichesters  of  Caire,  while  Dr.  Leigh  and  Ida 
Topham  turned  over  a  volume  of  photographs,  and  Mrs. 
Topham  sat  at  the  piano,  handsome  and  cheery,  running 
through  the  score  of  Veronique  for  the  benefit  of  a  neigh 
boring  vicar  and  his  wife.  The  doors  of  the  conservatory 
stood  open,  so  that  Dodo  and  her  cavalier  were  distinctly 
visible ;  Dodo  slight  and  elegant  in  her  black  gown  and  airy 
scarf,  Rose  bending  forward  in  his  deck  chair  to  point  his 
speech  with  lively  movements  of  the  hands.  What  they 
said,  however,  could  not  be  heard  through  the  dashing 
chords  of  Veronique. 

"And  don't  you  find  your  work  awfully  trying?"  Dodo 
asked,  lifting  her  great  blue  eyes  to  the  tired,  dark  face  of 
the  priest. 

"I  might,  if  I  let  myself  think  about  it." 

"One  feels  that  it  must  be  so  hopeless." 

"Why,  you  see,"  Rose  answered,  his  features  lighting 
up  with  his  rare,  half  melancholy  smile,  "that's  the  crux 
of  the  whole  problem.  Some  think  a  prison  ohaplain  's  life 
is  spent  in  administering  consolation  to  the  penitent  and 
returning  sinner." 

"Oh,  I  shouldn't  think  that!"  Dodo  exclaimed,  with  a 
lively  vision  of  Auburn's  mocking  eyes. 

"Exactly.  It  isn't.  But  then  others  think  he  has  nothing 
to  do  but  thunder  judgment  against  a  set  of  hardened  and 
brutal  ruffians." 

Dodo  shook  her  head.    "They  couldn't  all  be  bad." 

"Emphatically  not.    But  I'll  tell  you  what  they  all  are — 
innocent." 

"Do  they  say  so?" 

"Not  in  so  many  words,  but  it  all  depends  on  the  point 
of  view.  They  don't,  in  many  cases,  deny  that  they  com 
mitted  a  crime,  but  then  there  were  so  many  excuses  to  be 
made  for  them!  Bad  companions — bad  books — sudden 
temptation — pressure  of  poverty — heat  of  anger — want  of 


248  AN    ORDEAL    OF   HONOR 

thought— there's  no  end  to  the  excuses  they  find !  The  wit 
nesses  were  their  enemies,  of  course — that's  human  nature : 
the  lawyers  were  bribed — sometimes  the  judge  into  the  bar 
gain.  Miss  Chaston,  there's  a  perversion  in  the  criminal 
mind  which  renders  a  man  incapable,  I  do  believe,  of  seeing 
his  sin  in  its  true  light.  Even  the  superior  ones,  the  edu 
cated  men  who  do  profess  regret,  mix  it  up  with  railing  at 
the  false  friends  who  misled  them  and  the  venial  counsel 
who  blackened  the  case." 

"Do  you — but  perhaps  I  oughtn't " 

"What?    Please  finish  your  sentence." 

"I  was  wondering  whether  it  was  against  etiquette  for 
me  to  ask  you  about  the  prisoners.  I've  so  often  wanted  to, 
but  I  was  afraid  of  being  indiscreet." 

Rose  smiled.  ' '  There  can  be  no  indiscretion  so  long  as  I 
don't  mention  names.  We're  not  supposed  to  do  that,  but 
there's  no  harm  in  my  talking  about  the  general  aspects  of 
my  work  among  them,  that  is  if  it  interests  you.  What 
were  you  going  to  say?" 

"Do  you  think  any  of  them  are  really  innocent?" 

"No.  I  don't  believe  innocent  men  get  sent  to  prison. 
People  make  a  lot  of  fuss  about  it,  but  that's  all  humbug. 
Of  course  a  case  does  occur  now  and  then — "  he  turned  his 
head  away  and  sighed — "but  very  rarely." 

"It  is  horrible  to  think  of  its  ever  happening,  isn't  it?" 
murmured  Dodo. 

"Horrible,"  said  Rose  shortly.  "But  no  human  system 
is  or  ever  could  be  perfect." 

"Ah,  that's  the  man's  point  of  view,"  laughed  Dodo: 
"you  look  at  the  case  from  its  broad,  practical  aspect. 
Women,  you  know,  never  find  it  easy  to  be  philosophical." 

"Heaven  forbid  that  any  man  should  find  it  easy  to  be 
philosophical!  I  assure  you,  I  don't." 

"You  say  that  as  if !" 

'Do  I?    Ah,  it's  nonsense,  of  course:  Major  Topham 
would  tell  me  it's  my  Celtic  imagination.    But  the  fact  is 


AN    ORDEAL    OF   HONOR  249 

I've  been  to  see  a  man  this  morning  about  whom  I  can't 
help  feeling  uncomfortable.  I  knew  him  first  at  Worm 
wood  Scrubs — I  was  there  for  some  years  before  I  came 
here — and  I  've  never  felt  happy  about  him  from  the  first : 
and  yet  I  know  it's  purely  fanciful.  There  can't  be  any 
thing  in  it." 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"I've  taken  the  trouble  to  look  up  his  case  in  a  file  of 
old  reports — it  was  a  very  sensational  case,  you  would  know 
the  name  in  a  moment  if  I  told  you " 

"I  don't,"  said  Dodo  prudishly,  "as  a  rule,  take  much 
interest  in  sensational  trials." 

"Ah,  no,  no !  but  this  was  quite  exceptional — all  England 
was  ringing  with  it !  He  was  well  known  in  London,  and 
the  court  was  filled  with  smart  people.  He  was  only  five- 
and-thirty,  and  very  well  off." 

"A  gentleman  prisoner?  I  was  going  to  ask  you  if  you 
had  any,  and  how  they  got  on." 

"We  have  a  good  many,  but  he  is  probably  the  most 
notorious  of  all.  It  was  an  atrocious  crime,  and  the  case 
was  proved  up  to  the  hilt — by  circumstantial  evidence,  of 
course :  but  the  cane  with  which  the  murder  was  committed 
was  found  on  the  floor  of  the  room  and  positively  identi 
fied — I  beg  your  pardon,  I  am  straying  into  gruesome 
details!" 

"Oh  no,  it's  most  interesting.  Please  go  on  about  the 
poor  man." 

"  'Poor  man'!"  Kose  echoed,  smiling  at  this  instance  of 
a  woman's  habit  of  leaping  to  conclusions.  "He  is  a 
cowardly  murderer,  Miss  Chaston,  and  I  am  a  sentimental 
fool  to  have  any  doubt  about  it — indeed,  I  haven't.  All  the 
same,  it  is  a  case  to  break  one's  heart.  I've  never  got  him 
to  vary  from  his  statement  that  he  is  innocent.  He  doesn't 
loudly  assert  it,  he  simply  takes  it  for  granted  and  expects 
me  to  do  the  same.  He's  a  very  gentlemanly  fellow,  of 
course,  and  must  have  been  decidedly  good-looking " 


250  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

"Does  prison  life  turn  people  ugly  ?"  Dodo  asked,  stifling 
an  intolerable  spasm. 

"Well,  naturally,  the  clothes  and  the  shaven  head  and 
all  that  don't  make  for  beauty.  Besides,  the  work's  pretty 
hard  and  the  fare  not  luxurious." 

1 '  What  work  is  he  doing  ? ' ' 

"None  at  all,  just  at  present.  He  has  been  on  the  sick 
list  for  a  month  or  more — "  Dodo  turned  quickly,  and  bent 
over  a  pot  of  chrysanthemums — "nothing  very  serious,  only 
a  crushed  foot.  I'm  afraid  you're  feeling  the  heat,  Miss 
Chaston?" 

"No,  oh,  no!  It  is  so  much  cooler  out  here  than  in  the 
drawing-room,"  Dodo  answered,  plying  her  fan  with  a 
languid  swinging  movement  which  partly  veiled  her  face. 
The  unsuspicious  frankness  of  Hugh  Rose  had  made  her  at 
first  feel  miserably  like  a  spy,  but  before  this  news,  so  un 
expected,  her  compunction  vanished :  she  could  think  only 
of  Auburn  sick  and  suffering  in  the  rough  hands  of  warder 
nurses.  "No,  really,  I  don't  want  to  go  in:  it's  far  hotter 
in  the  drawing-room,  and  besides  I'm  interested  in  what 
you  were  saying.  Do  go  on  about  your  poor  convict." 

"My  poor  convict?  Oh,  he's  much  better:  he'll  be  out 
of  hospital  in  a  day  or  two.  He  was  working  in  the  quar 
ries,  and  managed  to  upset  a  barrowful  of  stones  over  his 
own  legs,  but  there  was  not  much  harm  done.  I  told  him 
I  believed  he'd  done  it  on  purpose." 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"Oh,  he  only  laughed.  He's  not  a  malingerer.  Some  of 
our  gentleman  prisoners  spend  half  their  time  in  the  in 
firmary,  but  he's  never  been  there  before.  He  likes  the 
work,  I  fancy:  any  thing's  better  than  brooding." 

"Does  he  brood?" 

"He  doesn't  take  me  into  his  confidence,"  Rose  answered 
gravely.  "He's  not  communicative  about  himself.  He's 
one  of  the  coolest  fellows  I  know,  and  chaffs  me  in  the  most 
outrageous  way  without  a  particle  of  respect:  but  for  all 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  251 

that  I  can't  answer  for  what  he's  like  when  he's  alone.  I 
try  to  cheer  him  up  as  best  I  can :  but,  you  know,  what  can 
one  say?" 

Rose  thrust  his  hands  into  hig  pockets  and  sat  with 
knitted  brows,  gloomily  turning  over  this  problem  in  his 
mind:  a  hard  riddle  to  answer.  Signs  of  movement  were 
visible  within  the  drawing-room,  and  Dodo  began  to  draw 
on  her  gloves. 

' '  I  should  like  to  see  him, ' '  she  said,  smoothing  down  her 
forefinger  with  extreme  care.  "What  will  he  do  when  he 
goes  back  to  work — be  sent  to  the  quarries  again?" 

' '  That  I  don 't  know.  When  I  last  saw  him  he  was  very 
keen  to  be  drafted  off  with  the  road-mending  gang,  in  which 
case  you  would  have  every  opportunity  of  seeing  him :  but 
whether  he  '11  get  his  wish,  of  course,  is  more  than  I  can  say. 
I  shouldn't  wonder  if  he  did :  road-mending  is  reserved  for 
the  good-conduct  men  as  a  rule,  and  he,  poor  fellow,  has 
led  an  exemplary  career,  at  Princetown  at  all  events.  Dear 
me,  I'm  afraid  I've  been  talking  an  unconscionable  lot  of 
shop ! ' '  said  Hugh  Rose,  smiling  down  at  his  little  friend. 
"It  was  your  fault,  though:  you  lured  me  on  with  your 
sympathetic  questions!  I  hope  you  haven't  been  bored  to 
death." 

"How  can  you  say  so?"  protested  Dodo.  "Don't  you 
know  that  every  one  is  always  interested  in  prison  life  7  I 
assure  you,  Mr.  Rose,  I've  been  deeply  absorbed  in  every 
word  you  said,  and  if  your  romantic  prisoner  does  get  sent 
out  road-mending  I  shall  most  certainly  go  and  have  a  peep 
at  him." 

"But  you  won't  know  him,"  Rose  pointed  out. 

"Oh!  you'll  describe  him  to  me,"  said  Dodo. 


XXVI. 

THE  key  grated  in  the  lock,  the  door  opened :  Auburn 
sprang  up  and  laid  aside  the  book — a  Spanish  gram 
mar — with  which  he  had  been  grappling.  ' '  Ha !  Eose,  this 
is  good  of  you.  I've  been  wondering  whether  you  ever 
meant  to  come  near  me  again.  Sit,  will  you?  you  look 
tired." 

"I  am  tired,"  Hugh  Eose  acknowledged,  seating  him 
self  on  the  wooden  stool  which  was  all  Auburn  had  to  offer 
him.  "I've  had  a  long  morning,  and  a  hard  one."  He 
sighed  and  brushed  his  hand  across  his  forehead  with  a 
quick  nervous  movement  that  was  habitual  with  him. 
Auburn  laughed,  and  let  himself  drop  down  on  the  speck- 
less  floor  of  his  cell,  where  he  sat  with  his  back  to  the  wall 
and  his  long  legs  extended.  He  had  from  the  first  declined 
to  treat  Mr.  Eose  on  any  other  footing  than  that  of  a 
normal  friendship,  and  the  priest,  who  was  the  last  man 
in  the  world  to  stand  on  his  dignity,  had  accepted  the  situ 
ation  with  goodwill.  It  was  between  twelve  and  one  o  'clock 
on  the  morning  of  a  dark  November  day  in  the  fourth  year 
of  Auburn's  imprisonment,  and  he  had  just  finished  his 
midday  meal.  His  empty  dinner-can  testified  to  the  sound 
ness  of  his  appetite,  for  beans  and  fat  bacon  are  not  epi 
cure's  fare. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  the  prisoner  sympatheti 
cally,  "got  hold  of  a  hard  case?" 

"I'm  afraid  so.  The  utterly  unimpressionable  type. 
And  the  man's  in  on  a  charge  of  m " 

"Murder :  don't  mind  me !"  said  Auburn  gaily.  "You're 
hypersensitive,  my  dear  fellow.  Is  it  the  little  rat-faced 

252 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  258 

man  that's  just  been  put  into  our  push?  I've  observed 
that  he's  going  to  come  out  on  top,  though  there  are  half  a 
dozen  of  us  that  could  put  him  in  our  pockets.  But  the 
aristocracy  of  crime  doesn't  rest  on  brute  force.  What's 
your  six-foot  bruiser  compared  with  an  honorable  thief? 
And,  as  in  the  old  duelling  days,  the  crowning  distinction 
is  to  have  killed  your  man.  As  for  me,  I've  got  to  sit  low 
to  Jimmy  Jones.  I'm  only  a  tyro— an  amateur." 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't  sit  low  to  him,  then.  I  believe  he's 
a  plague-spot  of  corruption.  But  he's  managed  to  get 
round  Brown,  somehow." 

11  Brown's  an  ass,  and  Jimmy  is  a  little  beast.  I'm  sorry 
to  have  to  say  it  of  him,  for  he  hails  from  my  own  part  of 
the  world:  introduced  himself  to  me  as  a  compatriot,  in 
fact,  not  to  say  an  old  friend.  He  was  in  court  the  day  I 
was  sentenced,  and  improved  the  occasion — I  mention  this 
in  confidence — by  prigging  a  wipe  under  the  usher's  very 
nose. ' ' 

" Prigging  a  what?" 

"Nosewipe,  nosewipe,"  said  Auburn  patiently:  "my  dear 
Rose,  what  a  very  verdant  Hugh  you  are — more  like  a 
green  carnation,  in  fact.  No,  don 't  try  to  think  it  out,  it  '11 
only  give  you  a  headache.  So  Jimmy's  a  plague-spot,  is 
he?  I  can  believe  it.  Shall  I  knock  him  down  for  you 
sometime  ? ' ' 

"And  get  yourself  into  trouble?     Certainly  not." 

"I  did  it  once,  and  I  didn't  get  into  trouble.  I  heard 
things  going  on  that  were  unseemly,  so  I  took  my  time  to 
interfere.  My  lord — he  was  a  long-firm  man,  and  had  been 
at  Oxford — picked  himself  up  pretty  quickly,  and  said 
things  which  I  don't  think  he  could  have  learned  even  at 
Oxford,  beastly  hole  though  it  be."  Hugh  Rose  was  a 
Balliol  man.  "Robyns  came  up,  heard  what  he  had  to  say, 
looked  at  his  black  eye  and  my  knuckles,  and — told  him  to 
get  on  with  his  work  double  quick  time.  Pretty  smart  of 
Robyns,  hey?  If  I  hear  the  same  sort  of  thing  going  on, 


254  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

I'll  work  the  same  oracle.  I  have  said  a  word  or  two  al 
ready,  for  which  Jimmy  glowers  at  me  like  a  mad  ferret. 
There  are  one  or  two  even  here  who  don't  know  absolutely 
all  the  foulness  there  is  in  the  world,  and  it's  a  pity  to 
brush  the  dew  off  their  wings." 

''There  isn't  much  that  you  don't  know." 

"No,  by  Jove,"  agreed  Auburn  simply.  "There  are 
times  when  I  feel  as  if  my  mind  would  like  a  bath.  Come ! 
dismiss  Jimmy  for  the  present.  I'll  say  a  word  in  season 
for  you,  so  don't  worry.  Isn't  it  a  perfectly  foul  day  ?  All 
the  same  I'm  yearning  for  one  o'clock:  I  want  to  be  at 
work  again.  You  know  they've  put  me  on  the  roads?" 

"  So  I  've  heard.    Are  you  glad  ? ' ' 

"Glad!"  Auburn  threw  up  his  hands.  "Glad!  Bless 
the  man !  Would  you  be  glad,  do  you  think,  to  get  a  breath 
of  moor  air  and  a  glimpse  of  the  hills  after  being  boxed  up 
in  the  quarries  for  six  months  ?  Yes,  I  am  glad,  more  than 
glad.  I " 

"You  what?"  asked  Rose  sharply. 

"Nothing.    What  else  have  you  been  doing?" 

"What  were  you  going  to  say?" 

"Don't  be  so  damned  inquisitive.  Ah!  I  beg  your  par 
don,  I  forgot  your  cloth — always  do  forget  it,  I  don't  know 
why:  you're  so  very  unlike  the  typical  parson." 

"The  conventional  parson,  don't  you  mean?"  said  Rose 
dryly.  He  dropped  the  question  of  Auburn's  broken  sen 
tence:  he  had  long  found  it  increasingly  hard  to  wring 
from  Auburn  any  confession  of  weakness,  bodily  or  mental, 
such  as  he  divined  to  have  been  on  the  tip  of  the  prisoner's 
tongue.  "I  suspect  your  acquaintance  with  parsons  is 
limited." 

"Not  at  all:  one  of  the  most  charming  scamps  I  ever 
knew  waa  a  parson,  and  commenced  saint  in  later  life.  I 
only  knew  him  in  the  latter  capacity,  but  I  believe  he  was 
equally  delightful  in  both." 

"Much  obliged  for  the  compliment!    We're  not  so  bad, 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  255 

you  know,  take  us  all  round.  But  you  agnostics  always 
think  you  know  everything." 

"I  think  I  know  quite  a  good  deal  of  Spanish,"  Auburn 
remarked  irrelevantly.  "It  will  be  tremendously  useful 
when  next  I  run  over  to  Spain.  I'm  grateful  to  you  for 
that  tip,  you  know,  but  I  wish  I  could  lay  hands  on  some 
more  Spanish  literature.  I  want  to  read  Don  Quixote  in 
the  original." 

"How  do  you  get  on  with  your  road-mending?"  Kose 
asked.  Auburn  laughed  again,  and  held  up  his  hands  for 
inspection.  They  were  tanned  and  roughened  and  hardened 
like  those  of  a  field-laborer:  one  of  the  right  finger-nails 
was  blackened,  and  Auburn  tapped  it  with  his  left  fore 
finger. 

"Not  so  badly,  considering  I'm  not  exactly  a  skilled 
artisan.  This  nail's  coming  off,  I  think,  but  that's  the  only 
damage  so  far.  I  can  swing  a  pick  as  one  to  the  manner 
born,  as  if — as  if  I  'd  spent  my  life  mining  in  Piccadilly.  I 
recollect  I  used  to  bless  the  L.C.C.  for  blocking  the  road  in 
those  days.  Queer,  these  changes ! ' ' 

"You  have  certainly  seen  some  queer  changes  in  your 
life." 

"Yes,  quite.  I  say,  how  did  the  Whitney  election  go 
off?" 

"  I  've  no  business  to  tell  you.  The  Liberal  got  in  with  an 
increased  majority." 

"Lucky  for  Yarborough,  the  byes  going  in  his  favor  like 
this :  it  '11  give  him  a  shove  in  the  right  direction. — Oh,  you 
Tories!  It's  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  God  allows  you  to 
exist,  though,  since  He  created  fleas." 

Rose  bore  with  this  rather  unnecessarily  strong  expres 
sion  of  political  sympathy  in  unmoved  good-humor.  "Well, 
I'm  glad  you  like  your  road-mending,"  he  said  cheerfully. 
"How  are  you  off  as  regards  the  sleeping?  Dent  did  not 
give  me  much  account  of  you  this  morning." 

"Dent's  an  old  woman." 


256  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

"Are  you  better,  then?  How  many  hours  did  you  get 
last  night?" 

"Don't  know,"  said  Auburn  coolly:  "do  you  suppose  I 
sleep  with  my  watch  under  my  pillow?  If  Dent  talks  to 
you  about  me,  do  me  the  favor  to  rub  it  well  into  what  he 
calls  his  head  that  I  won't  be  sent  back  to  hospital.  I'm 
perfectly  fit  except  for  the  not  sleeping,  and  that  '11  get  all 
right  now  I'm  at  work  again.  I  wish  to  heaven  I'd  never 
said  a  word  about  it !  only  I  thought  he  ought  to  be  able  to 
patch  me  up  with  some  of  his  beastly  drugs.  Tell  me  some 
more  newspaper  news :  how 's  the  sea  serpent  ?  It 's  about 
due  I  should  say." 

Rose  looked  at  him  for  some  moments  without  answering. 
Auburn  was  as  brown  as  a  berry  and  as  lean  as  a  lath,  and 
the  hideous  convict  clothing  hung  on  his  spare  athletic 
figure  like  a  sack,  but  apart  from  his  want  of  flesh  and  the 
remarkable  brilliance  of  his  eyes  he  looked  very  well ;  and, 
indeed,  nothing  ailed  him  except  a  fit  of  insomnia,  which 
had  come  on  him  like  a  strong  man  armed  when  he  was  sent 
to  hospital  with  his  injured  foot.  The  foot  had  ceased  to 
pain  him,  but  the  sleeplessness  continued,  and  he  was  being 
dosed  with  bromide  in  doses  of  rapidly  increasing  strength. 
Rose  laid  his  cool,  sinewy  hand  suddenly  on  Auburn's  wrist, 
and  held  him  so  for  a  minute. 

"You're  very  jerky,  Auburn.  Did  you  sleep  at  all  last 
night  ? — There,  never  mind :  only,  when  you  compare  me  to 
a  flea,  you  know,  I  look  for  some  physical  explanation  of 
your  crankiness.  I  don 't  think  there  was  much  news  in  the 
paper  to-day,  but  I've  really  hardly  had  time  to  glance  at 
it.  I  've  been  across  taking  service  in  church — it  is  a  Saint 's 

day,  you  know " 

"To  be  sure!"  said  Auburn.  "It  had  slipped  my  mind 
for  the  moment. ' ' 

"Scoffer!  I  met  a  very  pretty  girl  there,  by  the  bye:  I 
should  think  I  stayed  with  her  a  good  ten  minutes,  talking 
about  the  graves  in  the  churchyard "  again  he  bit  his 


AN    ORDEAL    OF   HONOR  857 

lip :  it  was  so  hard  to  find  anything  to  talk  about  that  was 
not  likely  to  lead  into  some  such  blind  alley!  Auburn's 
derisive  smile  concealed,  this  time,  a  sinking  heart.  He 
knew  of  those  graves,  and  had  speculated  upon  his  chance 
of  lying  under  one  of  them  some  day.  But  he  did  not  be 
tray  that  fact. 

"Continue!"  said  he.  "Nameless  graves — very  sad — 
Shed  a  tear  and  plant  a  daisy.  I  know  the  sort  of  thing. 
She  proposed  to  shed  the  tear  and  help  you  plant  the 
daisy." 

"Nothing  of  the  sort,"  said  Eose  crossly.  "She  is  a 
perfectly  proper  young  lady,  and  is  living  at  Menval — 
that 's  the  next  village  down  the  line — for  bracing  air.  She 
took  over  a  house  that  some  people  named  Carpenter  used 
to  live  in,  and  they  told  me  about  her  before  they  went. 
Poor  girl!  she  is  in  deep  mourning.  I  fancy  they  said  she 
had  just  lost  her  father:  anyhow  I  know  she  is  a  clergy 
man's  daughter,  because  she  told  me  so." 

"Really?"  said  Auburn.  His  thoughts  had  flown  to 
another  young  lady  who  was  in  the  same  situation,  but  he 
did  not  betray  that  fact  any  more  than  the  other,  unless  it 
were  in  an  accession  of  levity.  "In  that  case  she  is  prob 
ably  a  chorus-girl.  I  never  knew  a  chorus-girl — and  I  have 
known  a  good  many  in  my  time — who  wasn  't  a  clergyman 's 
daughter. ' ' 

"You're  incorrigible,"  Kose  declared,  half  vexed.  "I 
shall  tell  Dent  to  send  you  to  the  infirmary!" 

"No,  don't  hit  below  the  belt.  Tell  me  some  more  about 
your  young  lady.  It 's  years  since  I  've  seen  or  heard  of  a 
woman.  What  was  she  like — really  pretty?" 

"I  think  so:  fair  hair  and  blue  eyes  and  an  ingenuous 
sort  of  face.  Bather  an  old-fashioned  type,  I  should  say: 
the  sort  of  girl  that  one  instinctively  wants  to  take  her 
ticket  for."  It  was  a  pity  Dodo  could  not  hear  this  tribute 
to  her  innocent  airs.  "I've  met  her  several  times  at  the 
Governor's.  She's  deeply  interested  in  prison  life.  I  fancy 


258  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

she  cherishes  a  private  suspicion  that  all  prisoners  are  half 
starved." 

1 '  So  they  are — at  least,  I  am.  I  'd  give  a  thousand  pounds 
for  a  rump  steak  any  day.  It  must  be  jolly  to  talk  to  a 
woman,  you  lucky  beggar !  Did  you  tell  her  moving  tales 
about  your  star  prisoners?"  With  wicked  acuteness 
Auburn  caught  the  quick  unconscious  play  of  expression  in 
the  priest's  dark  eyes,  and  the  color  sprang  to  his  cheeks 
as  he  translated  Rose's  thought  into  words.  "Myself,  for 
example  ?  Did  I  point  the  moral  ?  Ah !  I  wish  I  'd  heard 
you." 

' '  I  wish  you  had, ' '  Rose  answered  gravely.  ' '  You  would 
be  none  the  worse  for  a  woman's  pity." 

Auburn's  indefinable  and  fleeting  grimace  indicated  that 
he  set  no  great  store  by  such  ware.  "She  must  be  very 
ingenuous  to  pity  a  convicted  murderer  at  second-hand," 
he  said.  "No,  you  may  have  her:  I  gave  her  to  you!  I 
hate  ingenuous  young  ladies.  Sweet,  artless  things!  they 
know  a  trick  or  two. ' ' 

"Shame  on  you,  Auburn!  You  of  all  men  ought  not  to 
sneer  at  women." 

"What  makes  you  say  that?"  said  Auburn. 

He  had  never  spoken  Dodo's  name  in  Rose's  hearing. 
The  priest  colored  high,  conscious  of  having  allowed  a  quick 
temper  and  a  Celtic  imagination  to  run  away  with  him. 

"Forgive  me:  I  ought  not  to  have  said  it." 

"But  why  did  you  say  it?" 

"You  forget  that  your  letters  pass  through  my  hands." 

"True,"  said  Auburn,  "I  did  forget." 

Rose  could  have  bitten  his  tongue  out.  Reading 
Auburn's  letters  year  by  year,  he  knew — none  better — how 
sore  the  wound  was:  knew,  too,  that  he  of  all  men,  in  his 
official  position,  had  least  right  to  meddle  with  it.  But  the 
mischief  was  done  now.  He  touched  Auburn  gently  on  the 
shoulder. 

"It  was  unpardonable  of  me  to  say  that,  it  was  trading 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  259 

on  a  forced  confidence.  But  I  only  wanted  to  pull  you  up. 
You  provoke  me  excessively,  Auburn,  when  you  get  on  that 
cynical  note.  It  is  so  unreal.  In  your  heart  you  know  very 
well  that  you  respect  women :  and  what 's  more,  you  respect 
me  too,  and  my  profession.  But  when  you're  in  one  of 
these  cranky  moods  you  go  on  and  on  like  a  fiddle  that's 
out  of  tune." 

''Damn  you!"  said  Auburn  under  his  breath.  "You 
know  very  well  that  I  never  allow  you  to  talk  to  me  of  my 
private  affairs." 

It  was  odd  language  from  prisoner  to  chaplain,  but  Rose 
thought  of  that  as  little  as  Auburn  did.  He  sat  for  a  few 
moments  silent:  but  the  hard  coldness  of  Auburn's  face 
warned  him  that  his  time  was  thrown  away,  and  he  rose 
and  touched  the  indicator  over  the  door. 

"I'm  very  sorry.  I'll  look  in  again  to-morrow.  Don't 
bear  malice,  Auburn!  Ah,  here's  Robyns  to  let  me  out. 
Good-bye,  my  friend." 

A  shrug  of  the  shoulders  was  Auburn's  only  reply,  and 
Rose  went  out  sighing.  Left  alone,  Auburn  fell  to  pacing 
his  cell  while  he  conjugated  Spanish  irregular  verbs.  He 
could  no  longer  trust  himself  to  think  of  Dodo. 

For  his  faith  in  her  was  dead.  Never  for  a  long  while 
had  come  an  interview  with  Roland  that  he  did  not  expect 
to  hear  of  her  marriage.  If  she  was  loyal,  why  had  she 
never  once  come  to  see  him?  He  knew  her  and  her  people 
too  well  to  believe  that  any  conventional  scruple  would 
have  debarred  her.  Since  she  did  not  come,  it  was  because 
she  did  not  want  to  come :  and,  though  her  letters  had  ar 
rived  with  unfailing  punctuality,  they  had  not  been  couched 
in  such  a  language  of  passion  as  to  reassure  him.  They 
were  written  for  the  official  eye,  of  course,  and  with  such  a 
fate  in  view  one  is  loth  to  be  expansive,  but  this  reflection 
did  not  console  Auburn  for  the  laconic  simplicity  with 
which  Dodo  began,  "My  dear  Charles,"  and  ended  "Yours 
very  sincerely,  D.  C.  Carminow."  Those  written  since  the 


260  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

death  of  Mr.  Carminow  had  been  peculiarly  brief  and 
vague:  the  last,  which  had  arrived  under  cover  of  a  line 
from  Eoden,  gave  him  no  detail  of  her  future  movements, 
and  no  address  but  that  of  Eoden 's  flat  in  town.  It  was 
after  getting  this  letter  that  Auburn  finally  resolved  to 
break  the  links  that  held  her,  and,  with  a  Quixotry  sadly 
thrown  away  on  Dodo's  lucid  common  sense,  wrung  from 
himself  those  half -insolent  lines  whose  value  Dodo  had 
gauged  so  accurately.  But,  if  he  was  Quixotic  and  absurd, 
he  paid  for  it :  for  his  letter,  and  the  blank  of  silence  that 
followed  it,  cost  him  dear.  He  felt  himself  now  absolutely 
forgotten :  and  he  could  not  forget.  As  the  dreary  autumn 
rolled  by,  the  longing  for  news  of  Dodo  so  wrought  on  him 
that  he  knew  not  how  to  bear  it.  Faith  was  dead  in  him, 
but  love  was  tenaciously  alive,  and  jealousy,  which  is  as 
cruel  as  the  grave.  It  was  the  thought  of  Dodo  in  another 
man's  arms,  while  he  himself  was  locked  within  four  walls 
and  could  not  get  to  her,  that  had  once  or  twice,  by  night, 
broken  her  lover  down  to  tears. 

At  length  Robyns  reappeared.  It  was  one  o'clock. 
Auburn  was  marched  out  with  his  comrades  to  the  parade- 
grounds,  there  to  undergo  the  superficial  search  which  took 
place  four  times  a  day.  This  ceremony  over,  the  great  com 
pany  of  misery — cheerful  enough  to  the  eye — was  drafted 
off  in  different  detachments,  some  to  the  shops,  some  to  the 
farm,  others,  and  Auburn  with  them,  to  the  task  of  road- 
mending  which  was  reserved  for  good-conduct  men.  Under 
escort  of  armed  warders  the  file  marched  out  of  the  prison 
gates  and  up  the  rambling  street.  A  belated  tourist 
(Princetown  in  the  summer  months  was  a  favorite  resort 
of  sightseers)  snapped  his  camera  at  them  as  they  went 
by,  to  the  strong  indignation  of  the  warders,  and  to  the 
dismay  of  some  of  the  prisoners,  who  threw  up  their 
hands  to  ward  off  recognition  as  though  it  had  been  a  blow : 
significant  gesture!  Auburn,  in  the  front  rank,  was  not 
one  of  these. 


AN    ORDEAL    OF   HONOR  261 

It  was  a  miserable  afternoon.  Auburn  cared  little  for 
that.  His  lean  sinewy  body  was  immune  by  this  time 
against  physical  aches  and  pains,  and  even  Dartmoor  under 
a  crawling  haze  was  better  than  the  four  walls  of  his  cell. 
It  was  glorious  work:  work  that  taxed  the  muscles  and 
gave  a  man  a  chance  of  the  weariness  that  brings  blessed 
sleep.  There  were  clouds  and  hills,  wide  tracts  of  moor 
land,  hedges  wet  with  wintry  dew,  a  free  cold  movement  of 
wind  blowing  in  from  the  sea:  there  was  also  a  constant 
under-current  of  lip  conversation,  which,  if  not  always 
edifying,  was  at  least  better  than  a  man's  own  thoughts. 
Traffic  passed  along  the  road :  Devon  country  folk,  slow  of 
gait  and  of  speech ;  market  carts,  with  wheels  creaking  and 
harness  a- jangle ;  Mrs.  Chichester  's  carriage  and  pair,  with 
a  quartette  of  ladies  and  men.  Auburn  had  to  step  aside  as 
the  last  went  by,  and  he  stood  erect,  straightening  his  bent 
shoulders,  running  the  gauntlet  of  looks  divided  between 
pity  and  healthy  British  scorn.  He  could  well  imagine  that 
for  the  next  few  hundred  yards,  till  the  working  party 
should  be  out  of  sight,  that  quartette  would  be  conscious  of 
a  shadow.  Oh,  this  best  of  all  possible  worlds !  They  would 
not  eat  the  less  bread  and  butter  for  having  seen  a  gang  of 
convicts  at  work.  Auburn's  neighbor  was  the  Cockney 
thief,  Jimmy  Jones,  and  Auburn  was  not  surprised,  nor 
altogether  unsympathetic,  when  he  heard  the  little  ruffian 

mutter,  "I  s'pose  they  think  they're toffs,  an'  we're 

the  dirt  under  their  feet." 

"And  aren't  we?"  said  Auburn.  Jimmy  gave  him  an 
evil  look. 

"And  you  think  you're  a  toff  too,  I  s'pose?  Ga-awd 
luv  yer!"  he  drawled  out  the  oath  with  vicious  slow  em 
phasis.  "Ill  get  upsides  with  them  an'  you  too  one  o' 
these  days,  Mr.  Sir  Charles  Auburn  of  Auburn,  Hants, 

Barrernet — now  you  go  an'  peach  to  the screw  an' 

say  I  threatened  yer!" 

"I  shan't  peach,"  said  Auburn  coolly,  "but  I  wouldn't 


262  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

advise  you  to  threaten.  I  could  put  you  down  with  one 
hand,  Jimmy." 

"Ho,  could  you!"  said  Jimmy,  growing  almost  audible 
between  surprise  and  rage.  Auburn  by  the  nicker  of  an 
eyelid  indicated  the  approach  of  a  warder,  but  they  were  at 
the  end  of  the  gang,  and  Brown  stopped  to  speak  to  a 
novice.  Jimmy  turned  his  face  towards  Auburn,  the  thin 
lips  working  crookedly.  ' '  Same  like  you  did  the  old  'un — 
eh?" 

"With  one  hand,  Jimmy.  And  I  shall  do  it,  too,  if  I 
hear  any  more  of  the  talk  that  was  going  on  this  morning. 
I  think  you  know  what  I  mean." 

"Well,  of  all  the  blasted !" 

But  Jimmy's  livid  rage  had  betrayed  him  to  a  pair  of 
keen  eyes  which  saw  in  a  moment  that  more  was  passing 
than  the  ordinary  illicit  conversation.  "Come,  that's 
enough,"  said  Brown  peremptorily,  "get  on  with  your 
work,  Jones,  and  you  too,  Auburn — I  '11  have  no  quarrelling, 
d'you  hear?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Auburn. 

Grey  clouds,  dusking  towards  brown,  with  never  a  rift 
of  sun,  so  that  one  could  not  tell  east  from  west,  though  it 
was  near  sunset:  infinite  desolation  of  moorland,  rough 
marshes  half  reclaimed  below,  bleak  skies  of  impending 
winter  above:  in  the  foreground  of  the  scene  a  string  of 
men  in  grotesque  clothes  working  on  the  road  under  the 
superintendence  of  armed  warders:  such  was  Dartmoor  as 
Dodo  saw  it  on  that  grim  November  day. 

She  came  slowly  up  the  road  towards  the  gang  of  con 
victs,  one  of  whom  she  knew,  from  her  talk  with  Hugh 
Rose  that  morning,  to  be  her  lover.  At  her  side  walked 
Lesbia,  pale  and  strong,  but  silent  as  she :  neither  woman 
had  a  thought  to  spare  from  what  was  coming.  Now  that 
the  time  drew  near  to  act,  Dodo  longed  to  postpone  it. 
Those  grey  dwarfs,  toiling  under  armed  surveillance  amid 


AN  ORDEAL  OF  HONOR 

the  bleak  immensity  of  the  November  moor— could  one  of 
those  be  Auburn?  If  so,  he  was  sorely  changed.  What 
stunted,  bestial  figures!  Was  Auburn  like  that,  he,  too, 
disfigured  and  bestialized  by  three  years  of  shame  and 
misery?  A  swarm  of  terrors  teemed  in  Dodo's  mind.  Had 
she,  after  all,  wit,  coolness,  courage,  to  go  through  it  with 
out  self-betrayal?  And  still  more  her  lover,  unwarned, 
unready — was  she  not  asking  too  much,  even  of  Auburn's 
seasoned  hardihood  ?  Would  he  betray  himself  ?  Woe,  woe 
if  he  did,  both  to  him  and  to  her ! 

Her  agony  lasted  till  she  saw  him :  and  that  was  not  till 
she  came  abreast  of  the  gang,  for  he  was  at  the  far  end  of 
it.  He  was  chipping  flints,  and  his  eyes  were  on  his  work. 
Dodo  watched  him  stealthily,  hungrily,  as  a  woman  might 
peer  at  the  babe  she  had  forsaken.  How  thin  his  hands 
had  grown!  He  was  thin  altogether:  lean,  haggard, 
bleached  under  his  sunburn.  His  face  was  pinched :  there 
were  hollows  at  the  temples  and  lines  about  the  nostrils. 
Yet  it  was  a  fine  head,  and  contrasted  well  with  the  debased 
faces  near  him :  it  bore  the  stamp  of  intellectual  force,  the 
refinement  of  clean  thoughts,  and  iron  self-control.  All 
Dodo's  terrors  fled  at  this  one  view  of  him,  and  left  her 
steeled  into  abnormal  strength. 

As  they  came  up,  the  women  took  note  of  his  position. 
Had  it  been  unfavorable,  they  would  have  passed  on,  for 
Dodo  took  no  needless  risks :  but  it  chanced  to  be  lucky.  He 
was  last  in  the  gang ;  Jimmy  Jones,  his  next  neighbor,  was 
also  chipping  flints,  and  seemed  to  be  pretty  thoroughly 
absorbed  in  his  task.  Brown,  a  few  paces  away,  was  rating 
a  shirker,  but  broke  off  to  watch  the  women  safely  through 
his  division  of  the  file,  and  to  salute  Dodo,  whom  he  recog 
nized  as  a  friend  of  the  Governor's  wife.  To  him  stepped 
Lesbia,  riveting  all  idle  eyes,  as  Dodo  had  reckoned,  by  her 
unfamiliar  rich  accent  and  remarkable  looks.  "Could  you 
tell  me  the  time,  sir  ?  My  mistress  and  I  want  to  get  on  to 
Two  Bridges,  but  I'm  thinking  we  shall  be  benighted." 


264  AN    ORDEAL   OF   HONOR 

Meanwhile,  under  cover  of  this  conjurer's  patter,  Dodo, 
strolling  on  by  Auburn's  side  of  the  road,  had  come  so 
near  to  him  that  she  could  have  thrown  her  arms  round  his 
neck.  Auburn,  struck  by  what  seemed  to  him  to  be  a 
strange  duplicate  of  Lesbia's  tones,  looked  up,  not  with 
the  ugly  sidelong  peep  of  his  mates,  but  with  the  old 
straight  and  keen  glance.  Their  eyea  met:  neither  spoke. 
Auburn  stood  quite  still,  leaning  his  clenched  hands  on  the 
handle  of  his  pick.  Dodo  was  carrying  a  muff:  she  let  it 
fall,  and  when  she  picked  it  up  she  left,  where  it  had  fallen, 
a  tiny  packet. 

As  she  rose  and  felt  his  eyes  on  her  again,  the  knowledge 
came  to  Dodo  that  if  she  delayed  another  moment  she 
would  be  in  Auburn's  arms.  She  would  have  liked  to 
delay.  It  would  have  been  the  loss  of  all :  good !  would  not 
all  be  well  lost  if  but  for  one  moment  she  could  be  in 
Auburn's  arms?  It  was  only  by  a  blind  exertion  of  will 
that  she  could  force  herself  to  look  aside  and  go  quietly  on 
down  the  road.  Not  a  touch,  not  a  syllabi  e  did  they  ex 
change.  Dodo  had  longed  for  a  chance  to  slip  the  parcel 
into  his  hand,  but  that  was  before  she  saw  him  in  the  flesh. 
Touch  his  hand?  One  touch,  and  she  would  have  been  on 
his  breast. 


XXVII. 

then,  Auburn,  are  you  going  to  sleep?" 
Auburn  was  still  leaning  on  his  pick,  motionless, 
and  he  looked  so  queer  that  Brown,  a  good-natured  fellow 
in  the  main,  though  given  to  hectoring — came  up  and 
touched  his  arm.    " What's  wrong  with  you,  eh?" 

Dodo's  packet  lay  not  six  inches  from  Brown's  foot.  It 
was  small  and  very  thin,  and  covered  with  silk  that  matched 
the  road.  Auburn  came  to  his  senses  and  to  the  knowledge 
that  he  must  not,  for  his  life,  look  down  at  it,  or  try  to  get 
hold  of  it  or  to  hide  it. 

"I  felt  queer  for  a  moment.    I'm  all  right  now,  thanks." 

' '  Well,  get  on  with  your  j  ob,  then.  This  ain  't  a  workus ! ' ' 
said  Brown  the  sardonic.  He  moved  away,  and  Auburn 
instantly  set  his  foot  on  the  packet.  Later  on  he  was  able 
to  pick  it  up  unobserved. 

At  half -past  four  the  men  quitted  work  for  the  day,  and 
were  marched  back  into  the  parade  ground.  Here  all  had 
to  stand  with  jacket  and  shirt  open,  arms  thrown  out,  cap 
in  one  hand  and  handkerchief  in  the  other,  while  trained 
fingers  were  passed  over  them  from  head  to  foot.  Th« 
search,  though  rapid,  should  have  been  exhaustive.  Human 
nature,  however,  is  human  nature.  It  was  an  afternoon  of 
cold  and  fog  and  early  dusk:  each  eonv!<jt  had  been 
searched  thrice  that  day  already:  Auburn's  was  a  job  that 
did  not  involve  the  handling  of  such  small  tools  as  could 
readily  be  hidden  in  a  fold  of  clothing:  and  Auburn  him 
self,  while  at  Dartmoor,  had  never  lost  a  mark.  When  the 
door  of  the  cell  was  locked  upon  him,  Dodo's  packet  was 
still  secure. 

266 


266  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

But  he  dared  not  open  it  yet.  The  place  was  still  wide 
awake,  warders  were  coming  and  going:  at  any  moment 
one  might  look  in.  He  made  up  his  bed,  and  sat  down  to 
read  Spanish  grammar  till  six  o'clock,  when  they  brought 
his  supper — bread  and  cheese  and  cocoa,  and  not  enough 
of  either  to  satisfy  his  incorrigibly  healthy  appetite.  At 
last,  however,  the  cell  was  locked  up,  and  he  had  the  night 
before  him,  and  ten  minutes  more  of  electric  light  to  see 
by.  He  lay  down,  pulled  the  blanket  over  him,  and  with 
insensibly  slow  movements  drew  off  the  silken  wrapper.  In 
it  he  found  a  three-inch  file  of  exquisite  temper  and  a  slip 
of  thin  paper  in  Dodo's  writing.  Prone  on  his  plank  bed 
stead  with  his  head  propped  on  his  hands  and  the  letter 
spread  open  under  him  he  contrived  to  read  it  without  much 
risk. 

"With  this  file  you'll  be  able  to  cut  your  window-bars. 
Tear  your  blanket  into  strips,  knot  them,  and  lower  your 
self  to  the  ground.  The  outer  wall  of  the  prison  is  twenty 
feet  high  and  leans  inwards.  I  will  be  at  the  northeast 
angle:  tap  three  times,  and  I  will  throw  a  rope  over.  As 
you  will  have  to  dodge  the  watchmen,  I  shall  wait  all  night 
from  nine  till  five.  This  plan  is  practicable:  it  has  been 
done.  But  it  must  be  to-night,  or  they  may  find  the  file. 
Once  in  our  house  you  may  lie  perdu  for  a  twelvemonth ;  I 
have  seen  to  that.  No  one  can  suspect  us,  no  one  knows  my 
name.  I've  planned  this  ever  since  the  trial.  For  God's 
sake,  do  not  hesitate!  For  you,  the  risk  of  a  shot  in  the 
dark  is  better'than  sixteen  years  more  in  prison,  and  my 
heart  is  breaking.  I  love  you  so,  I  think  I  shall  die  if  you 
don't  come  to  me.  I  would  rather  be  killed  with  you  than 
suffer  any  longer  as  I  do  now  day  and  night  thinking  of 
you.  God  bless  and  keep  you,  and  bring  you  safe  to  your 
own  love,  now  and  for  ever." 

Auburn  read  this  letter  through  till  he  had  got  it  fairly 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  267 

by  heart.  His  next  act  was  of  an  eminently  practical 
nature — he  ate  it.  After  that  he  lay  still  and  listened. 
Night  watchmen  wore  rubber  shoes  and  walked  lightly,  but 
the  ear  of  the  convict  was  so  acute  that  he  rarely  failed 
to  hear  them,  and  it  was  not  long  before  Auburn  was  aware 
of  a  stealthy  tread  in  the  corridor:  Hill  had  just  come  on 
guard.  Was  Auburn  to  be  spied  this  time  ?  If  so,  with  his 
clean  reputation,  he  was  not  likely  to  be  inspected  again  for 
some  while,  for  the  rounds  were  long,  and  the  watchman 
had  many  cells  on  his  beat.  For  the  first  time  in  his  prison 
life  Auburn  heard  the  click  of  the  flap,  as  it  was  lifted  over 
the  spy-hole,  without  a  qualm  of  distaste.  It  was  soon  over : 
the  man  passed  on. 

He  was  no  sooner  gone  than  Auburn  began  to  ply  his  file. 
It  was  exquisitely  sharp,  and  bit  through  the  bars  like  wax. 
He  had  to  work  slowly,  however,  so  as  to  make  the  mini 
mum  of  noise :  the  watchman  was  out  of  earshot,  but  there 
were  his  neighbors  to  be  considered,  who  would  not  have 
been  slow  to  curry  favor  by  putting  a  spoke  in  his  wheel. 
At  length  it  was  done — such  work  goes  pretty  fast — and 
Auburn  was  able  to  lift  away  the  whole  framework,  bars, 
glass,  and  ventilator,  leaving  only  the  stump  of  one  bar  for 
the  loop  of  his  cord.  Half  a  pane  of  glass  cracked,  and, 
before  he  could  grasp  it,  fell  out  of  the  window :  he  heard 
it  smash  on  the  stones  below.  Had  the  out  patrol  passed  at 
that  moment,  the  game  would  have  been  up.  But,  when  the 
roaring  of  nervous  blood  in  Auburn's  ears  had  died  down, 
he  found  all  as  still  as  ever.  So  much  for  the  window. 

Next  he  had  to  tear  his  blanket  into  strips  and  knot  it 
into  a  rope.  "  'Send  it  isn't  shoddy!"  he  muttered  with 
the  ghost  of  a  laugh :  his  cell  was  fully  thirty  feet  from  the 
ground.  Luckily,  he  was  a  practiced  athlete.  The  rope 
when  completed  was  not  above  twenty  feet  long.  He 
hitched  the  knot  over  his  inch  and  a  half  of  iron  bar,  and 
swung  on  it  to  test  its  strength.  At  that  moment  he  heard 
the  step  of  the  inside  patrol  in  the  corridor.  His  blood 


268  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

ran  like  water  and  his  knees  knocked  together  as  he  hung — 
he  had  not  even  time  to  get  back  to  bed :  the  step  passed  on : 
it  halted  before  his  neighbor's  door:  passed  on  again — he 
was  safe.  For  the  moment ! 

Cautiously  he  paid  out  the  rope :  and  now  came  the  hard 
est  job  of  all !  The  window  measured  perhaps  two  feet  by 
eighteen  inches,  and  was  high  off  the  floor.  How  to  put 
himself  outside  it  with  nothing  but  a  stool  to  mount  on, 
Auburn  did  not  know,  but  it  had  to  be  done,  and  he  did  it : 
though  he  thought  at  one  time  that  he  should  stick  fast,  and 
be  found  the  next  morning  with  his  head  on  one  side  and 
his  legs  on  the  other.  Nor  was  he  much  happier  when  he 
was  out  and  swinging  over  a  thirty-foot  drop.  The  night 
was  pitch  dark,  and  wet  with  the  denseness  of  the  fog: 
and  into  that  fog,  that  dark,  that  unfathomable  pit  of 
danger,  Auburn  felt  a  strong  physical  disinclination  to  go. 
His  fingers  locked  themselves  round  the  stump  of  the  bar : 
he  had  to  use  force  with  himself  before  he  could  disengage 
them,  and  throw  all  his  weight  on  a  strip  of  Government 
blanket.  In  all  the  world  he  could  see  no  glimmer  of  light. 
Deciding  to  trust  to  luck  and  Dodo's  prayers  (luck  came 
first),  he  began  to  let  himself  down,  hand  over  hand, 
slowly,  and  straining  his  ears  for  the  step  of  the  out  patrol : 
and  he  did  manage  to  get  half-way  before  the  rope  snapped 
above  his  head,  and  he  dropped — but,  luckily,  fell  clear  of 
the  splintered  glass.  No  bones  were  broken.  As  for  the 
noise,  that  was  loud  enough  in  Auburn's  ears  to  wake  the 
whole  prison :  yet  the  prison  did  not  awake. 

Picking  himself  up  with  all  the  constellations  dancing  in 
his  head,  Auburn  peered  about  him.  It  was  so  dark  that  he 
could  not  see  his  hand  before  his  face:  nor  could  he  tell 
north  from  south :  nor  had  he  any  clear  idea  which  way  to 
go.  A  prisoner's  window  is  filled  with  ground  glass,  so  that 
Auburn  actually  did  not  know  where  his  cell  was  placed : 
he  only  knew  that  the  sun  came  into  it  late  on  summer 
evenings.  This  was  a  point  on  which  Dodo  had  not  reck- 


AN    ORDEAL    OF   HONOR  269 

oned!  Taking  roughly  that  he  was  on  a  north-west  wall, 
Auburn  decided  to  strike  straight  forward  towards  what  he 
concluded  to  be  the  direction  of  the  road,  and  he  was  just 
feeling  along  the  bricks  to  get  his  bearings  when  he  saw  a 
good  way  off  a  shining  eye  of  fire:  the  lantern  of  the  out 
patrol. 

He  crouched  down  against  the  wall.  His  nerves  were  so 
undone  that  he  would  have  liked  to  cry  out  "I  surrender," 
and  if  Dodo  had  not  been  waiting  for  him  it  was  on  the 
cards  that  he  would  have  done  it :  but  for  love  of  Dodo  he 
schooled  himself  to  take  his  chance.  He  saw  the  light  flash 
ing  nearer,  this  way  and  that,  starred  by  the  fog:  now  it 
flickered  over  a  bleak  buttress,  now  it  picked  out  every 
crevice  on  the  asphalt  pavement.  Its  flitting  finger  touched 
into  momentary  life  objects  familiar  by  day:  they  leapt  out 
of  the  dark  and  sank  back  into  it.  It  rayed  a  window 
within  reach  of  Auburn's  arm:  it  struck  a  spark  from  an 
isolated  splinter  of  glass  a  yard  from  his  foot.  Auburn 
could  hear  the  step,  the  breath  of  the  watchman.  He 
stopped,  not  half  a  dozen  yards  from  the  crouching  man: 
he  chafed  his  free  hand  over  the  benumbed  hand  that  held 
the  light :  its  beam  went  dancing  right  over  Auburn 's  face — 
but  "Warder  Collins  at  that  moment  was  thinking  of  his  own 
blue  fingers  and  not  of  escaping  convicts. 

"Blasted  cold!"  he  muttered.  "A  nice  night  for  my 
rheumatics,  I  don't  think!"  He  moved  on. 

There  is  nothing  so  demoralizing  as  to  be  hunted.  Al 
though  Auburn  knew  now  exactly  where  he  was — his  sub 
conscious  intelligence  having  printed  off  the  scene  detail 
by  detail  into  one  complete  photograph — it  was  some  min 
utes  before  he  could  do  anything  but  cower  under  the  wall. 
At  length  he  whipped  himself  to  his  feet  with  an  oath  and 
a  laugh  under  his  breath,  and  made  straight  across  the 
prison  yard  for  the  outer  wall.  "When  he  had  gained  it,  he 
had  only  to  grope  along  to  its  next  corner  on  the  right,  and 
was  at  the  end  of  his  journey. 


270  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

He  tapped  three  times,  and  before  a  moment  had  gone  by 
other  taps  answered  him.  By  day  the  sounds  would  have 
been  inaudible,  by  night  they  were  barely  to  be  distin 
guished.  Something  whizzed  through  the  air  and  fell  at 
his  feet.  He  picked  it  up,  and  found  a  pebble  muffled  in 
felt,  attached  to  a  string.  Gathering  in  the  string  hand 
over  hand,  he  came  at  length  to  a  stout  rope,  and  the  line 
ceased  to  pay  out :  evidently  it  was  made  fast  on  the  other 
side.  He  went  up  it  like  the  sailor  that  he  was,  and  was 
soon  astride  of  the  wall.  He  looked  down,  but  could  see 
nothing:  earth,  sky,  and  whoever  stood  below  were  buried 
in  the  dark  of  the  moor  fog.  He  felt  along  the  wall  with 
his  toes  till  he  found  the  buttress  which  propped  the  angle. 
Prison  walls  slope  inward :  the  outer  side  is,  therefore,  com 
paratively  easy  to  descend.  In  the  angle  formed  by  the 
buttress  Auburn  slid  slightly  down,  barking  his  legs  and 
elbows,  and  parting  with  rags  of  his  dress  on  the  way :  his 
feet  touched  earth. 

"Dodo?"  he  breathed. 

"Here,"  answered  Dodo's  murmured  tones  out  of  the 
gloom :  and  Dodo 's  hands  fumbled  for  him  and  found  him. 
Auburn  could  see  nothing  of  her  but  the  dim  whiteness  of 
her  upturned  face.  He  leaned  down  to  her  and  drew  her 
into  his  arms,  her  cheek  against  his  bared  breast,  his  lips 
touching  her  hair.  She  could  feel  the  deep  labored  throb 
bing  of  his  heart,  and  she  turned  her  head  and  kissed  it. 
"Mine,"  she  said,  "mine,  mine,  my  dearest." 

"Love!    Dodo!" 

"No,  no,  I  can't  bear  it " 

Such  passion  burns  like  fire:  but  Dodo  forgot  the  pain 
as  she  felt  Auburn 's  breast  rise  in  a  great  sob,  and  then  he 
murmured,  in  a  voice  altogether  changed — 

1 '  0  God— God !  what  have  I  done  ?  I  've  been  mad !  This 
risk  you're  running!  Let  me  go  back!" 

"No,  no,  too  late !  Ah,  I  knew  you'd  say  it.  No,  Charles, 
no— you  can't.  I'd  give  myself  up  if  you  did." 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  271 

It  was  true.  He  might — and  would — curse  himself  till 
Doomsday:  there  was  no  going  back. 

"Dodo,  if  they  take  me " 

"They  shan't." 

"If  they  do,  remember,  it  was  well  worth  while.  Nothing 
they  could  do  to  me — or  to  you  either,  I  swear — would  not 

be  well  redeemed  by  this — by  you "  he  strained  her 

closer,  as  though  through  the  mist  of  the  night  and  the 
veil  of  the  flesh  he  would  have  drawn  her  very  soul  to  his 
own. 

"They  shan't  take  you.    We'll  die  together  first." 

"They  will  take  you,  and  make  small  bones  about  it,  if 
you  dawdle  about  much  longer.  Get  his  boots  on,  child, 
while  I  finish  hauling  in  the  slack  o '  the  rope :  is  this  a  time 
to  stand  hugging  and  kissing  each  other?" 

This  was  good  sense  though  roughly  phrased,  and  Dodo, 
who  had  forgotten  Lesbia's  existence,  was  quick  to  disen 
gage  herself.  "Take  off  your  shoes,"  she  said.  Auburn 
obeyed  as  well  as  he  could,  his  bruised  fingers  fumbling  in 
the  darkness  with  the  wet  laces.  "Now  these,"  said  Dodo, 
and  Auburn  drew  on  a  pair  of  boots  which  would  leave  no 
mark  of  the  broad  arrow.  "Cap  and  overcoat  now,"  said 
Dodo,  thrusting  them  into  his  hands.  "Pick  up  your  shoes, 
we  don't  want  to  give  away  a  single  fact  about  you.  Now, 
Lesbia,  you  go  first — you  can  see  in  the  dark." 

That  midnight  walk  was  the  strangest  experience  of  Au 
burn's  strangely  varied  life.  The  sense  of  hurry,  the  dark 
ness,  the  dread  that  gained  on  him  every  moment  of  hearing 
the  clang  of  the  prison  bell  contributed  to  make  up  such  a 
blur  of  impressions  that  he  could  get  no  grasp  of  his  own 
mind  at  all,  but  was  simply  carried  on,  as  Dodo  had  planned 
that  he  should  be,  like  a  straw  in  the  wind.  Lesbia  walked 
ahead,  not  once  at  fault,  though  even  in  the  open  country — 
where  it  is  never  so  dark  as  between  trees  or  houses — the 
gloom  was  dense.  Auburn  and  Dodo  followed  hand  in  hand 
like  children.  ' '  How  is  it  you  can  find  your  way  ? ' '  Auburn 


27*  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

murmured  once.  "We've  been  here  a  dozen  times  before  on 
dark  nights,"  answered  Dodo.  At  first  they  trod  quaking 
marshlands ;  then  they  came  to  a  low  stone  wall,  which  Au 
burn  vaulted  and  lifted  Dodo  over :  then  a  hay-meadow,  the 
wintry  grass  short  and  sere  and  dripping  with  cold  dew : 
then  through  a  gap  in  a  briar-hedge,  and  so  down  into  the 
road.  Once  they  heard  the  sound  of  wheels  coming  up  in 
the  rear,  but  there  was  time  for  them  to  slip  back  through 
the  hedge  and  lie  down  in  the  field  behind  it.  The  trap — a 
gig — went  racketing  by,  the  farmer  on  the  box-seat  lustily 
carolling  a  country  song :  and  Dodo  and  Auburn  crouched 
side  by  side  in  the  freezing  dew,  and  felt  as  though  it  were 
warm  midsummer.  When  the  gig  had  gone  by  they  went  on 
again,  always  hand  in  hand. 

At  length  they  saw  the  few  lights  of  Menval  scattered  in 
the  valley,  one  here  and  there  in  a  watcher's  casement,  and 
Dodo  gave  Auburn 's  hand  a  squeeze.  ' '  Jeannie  's  window, ' ' 
she  breathed,  nodding  towards  the  nearest  lamp.  Auburn 
heard  the  low  click  of  a  garden  gate,  and  Lesbia  's  hands  on 
his  shoulders  pushed  him  warily  through  it :  he  was  marched 
up  the  narrow  garden  path,  and  smelt  the  rich  night  scent 
of  lavender,  and  felt  the  bushes  brush  against  his  legs. 
Next  followed  the  creak  of  an  opening  door.  His  foot  was 
on  the  threshold,  when  there  came  chiming  between  the 
midnight  hills  a  low,  humming  tone — another — another, 
doubling  and  redoubling  into  a  loud  startled  tolling,  a  clam 
orous  jangle  that  spoke  far  and  wide  over  the  moor.  Dodo 's 
hand  locked  itself  over  Auburn 's :  he  heard  her  long,  shud 
dering  breath.  Even  Lesbia  stopped  dead  in  terror.  But 
Auburn  turned  and  stood  for  a  moment  looking  back  to 
wards  the  great  bulk  of  building,  lost  in  the  darkness,  which 
for  so  long  had  been  his  grave.  Dodo  saw  the  queer  slant  of 
his  head,  held  very  high. 

' ' Oh,  Dodo,  what  a  devil  of  a  row ! "  he  exclaimed.  " I'd 
give  anything  to  see  old  Topsy  in  his  pyjamas,  when  they 
break  the  news  to  him!" 


XXVIII. 

WIDE  open  stood  the  door  at  the  head  of  the  stairs : 
a  flood  of  light  streamed  from  it  and  blinded 
them  as  they  came  in.  While  Lesbia  stayed  to  make  fast 
lock  and  bar,  Dodo  led  Auburn  up  to  the  room  that  had 
been  Jeannie's,  but  was  now  ready  for  a  guest.  The  shut 
ters  were  up  and  the  curtains  drawn:  a  great  rosy  fire 
flickered  on  the  hearth :  a  tall  lamp  stood  on  an  oaken  table 
which  was  set  out  for  supper,  with  white  damask  and  gleam 
of  silver  and  scent  and  freshness  of  flowers.  Armchairs 
and  lounges  were  gay  with  delicate  chintzes,  nor  had  Dodo 
omitted  the  laden  bookshelves  and  sober  engravings  that 
spoke  of  civilized  life.  After  four  years  in  a  prison  cell  it 
was  strange  to  come  into  this  place,  which  shone  like  a 
jewel  and  smelt  of  violets. 

Near  the  fire  sat  Jeannie,  thin  and  fever-cheeked.  She 
started  up  as  they  came  in,  and  held  out  her  hands.  "Oh! 
Mr.  Charles,  is  it  you  indeed?" 

"Well,  old  Jeannie,  how  are  you?" 

Battling  with  the  sense  of  unreality,  Auburn  bent  to 
touch  her  forehead  with  his  lips.  But  Jeannie  drew  back, 
looking  up  at  him  with  great  eyes  of  bewilderment  and 
terror.  "What  is  it,  child?"  said  Auburn.  "I'm  not  a 
ghost!"  She  had  no  answer  ready.  The  color  came  into 
Auburn's  cheeks  and  he  relinquished  his  grasp.  "Am  I  so 
changed  ? ' ' 

"Don't  touch  me,"  said  Jeannie.  "You're  too  like  your 
father." 

"What,  isn't  he  dead  yet?"  said  Auburn. 

His  manner  was  almost  as  wild  as  Jeannie's:  he  had  not 

273 


274.       AN  ORDEAL  OF  HONOR 

been  prepared  for  the  raising  of  that  ghost.  Luckily  Lesbia 
now  struck  in  with  her  plain  prose.  "Hark  at  that  child! 
Leave  talking  such  rubbish  to  a  starved  man,  and  put  the 
soup  on  the  fire,  will  you?  I  thought  you'd  more  sense. 
There's  Miss  Dodo  has  twice  as  much  wits  about  her  as  you 
have!"  Dodo  was  cutting  bread.  "Sit  down,  you,"  to 
Auburn.  "Take  that  overcoat  off  first,  it 's  drenching  wet. ' ' 
Auburn  hesitated.  ' '  Take  it  off !  D  'you  want  to  sit  in  wet 
clothes  longer  than  you  need?" 

"Ah!  Lesbia  .  .  ." 

"What's  wrong  now?" 

She  saw  what  was  wrong,  as  Auburn,  with  a  deep  flush, 
threw  off  his  overcoat  and  sat  down  by  the  fire,  a  convict 
once  more.  Dodo  came  and  knelt  by  him  and  laid  her  cheek 
against  his.  The  iron  had  gone  deep,  they  all  saw  it  in  that 
moment.  Innocent  though  he  knew  himself  to  be,  he  had 
been  made,  in  those  years,  to  feel  himself  degraded  by  the 
felon's  dress  to  the  level  of  a  felon.  He  did  not  even  return 
Dodo's  caress,  but  sat  looking  moodily  into  the  fire.  Lesbia 
could  have  slapped  Jeannie,  whose  dark  fancy  had  helped 
to  precipitate  a  reaction  which  was  perhaps  inevitable :  but 
there  was  nothing  to  be  gained  by  slapping  Jeannie.  The 
wise  woman  knew  what  was  best  to  be  done. 

"My  word!  I  don't  wonder  you  didn't  want  to  take 
your  coat  off.  The  boy's  fair  indecent — and  we  three 
women,  and  only  one  of  us  married!  Here,  give  me  the 
rug,  Jean,  and  you,  Miss  Dodo,  get  up  and  get  out  of  the 
way. ' '  She  caught  up  a  covering  from  the  sofa  and  threw 
it  over  Auburn 's  shoulders,  which  were  in  point  of  fact  half 
bare,  for  his  clothes  had  suffered  by  window  and  wall. 
"You'll  get  those  rags  off  when  you've  had  your  supper. 
We've  got  a  suit  of  Mr.  Carew's  waiting  for  you." 

' '  Roland 's  ?    He 's  never  in  it  ? " 

"He?  He's  a  man,  and  an  idiot  at  that.  God  forbid  I 
should  call  men  idiots,"  Lesbia  conceded  generously:  "all 
I'd  ever  say  is  that  when  the  Almighty  lays  to  His  hand  to 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  275 

create  the  prince  and  pink  of  idiots  it's  not  a  woman  He 
turns  out.  Your  sweetheart  wrote  asking  his  wife  to  let  us 
have  some  of  their  cast  clothes  to  give  to  the  poor — and 
that's  no  lie,  for  you're  poor  if  ever  any  man  was — you've 
not  got  enough  to  cover  you.  Get  up,  Miss  Dodo,  I  want  to 
come  there."  She  went  down  on  her  knees  and  began  to 
pull  off  Auburn's  muddy  boots  and  wet  stockings,  and  he 
let  her  do  it  as  she  had  done  it  for  him  when  he  was  a  child : 
it  was  good  to  feel  the  warmth  of  the  fire  on  his  bare  feet. 
It  was  four  years  since  Auburn  had  sat  by  a  fireside.  Mean 
while,  Jeannie  brought  up  a  small  table  and  Dodo  set  on  it 
a  plate  of  soup,  smoking  hot.  "Now,  then,  drink  that  up," 
said  Lesbia.  "Bread,  Jeannie." 

"I  can't,"  said  Auburn.  It  was  not  only  the  racking, 
nervous  strain  and  the  physical  fatigue  of  his  escape,  nor 
the  fear  of  recapture — it  was  the  love  and  devotion  of  these 
women  that  touched  him  so  keenly  as  to  overthrow  his  self- 
control.  He  pushed  away  the  soup  and  leaned  his  head  on 
his  hand,  covering  his  eyes.  Lesbia  stood  watching  him  as 
a  doctor  watches  his  patient.  She  glanced  at  Dodo,  who 
shook  her  head.  Only  a  passionless  love  could  serve  him 
now. 

"There  now,"  said  Lesbia,  grumbling,  "all  my  nice  soup 
wasted !  Drink  a  little,  dear,  just  to  please  me. ' '  She  drew 
down  Auburn's  hand  and  put  the  spoon  to  his  lips,  coaxing 
him  as  she  would  have  coaxed  a  sick  child.  "Do  you  mind 
how  you  used  to  come  to  me  when  Sir  Charles  was  in  one  of 
his  tantrums?  You  always  said  you  liked  my  soup  better 
than  his  dinners.  Drink  it  up  now,  it'll  do  you  good." 

She  spoke  with  authority,  and  Auburn  yielded  because  he 
was  too  languid  to  resist :  and  after  the  first  two  or  three 
spoonfuls  she  had  no  more  trouble.  If  Auburn 's  mind  was 
not  hungry,  his  body  was,  and  had  been  for  years,  and  the 
savory  taste  of  Lesbia 's  soup  and  the  perfume  of  her  St. 
Emilion  were  much  too  good,  after  prison  fare>  to  be 
refused. 


270  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

Soon  he  was  sufficiently  himself  again  to  declare  that  he 
would  not  eat  alone,  and  they  drew  the  table  over  to  the 
fireside  and  sat  down  to  the  strangest  meal  they  had  ever 
eaten.  Stealth  and  secrecy,  dangers  half  escaped  and  joy 
hardly  proven,  the  sense  of  the  dark  night  pressing  on  the 
window  panes  and  of  the  bell  drumming  out  its  great  alarm 
over  the  sleeping  moors,  all  wrought  together  into  a  com 
plex  of  impressions  where  pleasure  bordered  on  pain.  It 
seemed  incredible  that  they  should  be  hungry,  and  yet  they 
were :  the  keen  night  air  had  given  them  an  appetite.  Jean- 
nie  indeed  ate  next  to  nothing,  but  that  was  Jeannie's  way : 
and  the  others  cleared  the  board,  to  Lesbia's  deep  satisfac 
tion,  for  she  loved  to  see  people  eat  of  her  cookery.  When 
Auburn  finally  threw  out  hints  in  the  direction  of  a  cigar 
ette,  she  could  begin  to  believe  that  she  had  her  boy  again. 
She  had  some  for  him,  of  course,  of  his  own  special  brand, 
and  she  could  hardly  go  to  clear  the  table  for  the  joy  of 
watching  him  smoke.  Even  Dodo,  in  spite  of  a  vagrant 
eense  of  humor,  owned  that  he  did  look  more  like  himself 
with  a  cigarette  between  his  lips.  So  she  phrased  it,  but 
in  reality  she  knew  that  the  change  went  deeper :  his  cheeks 
were  no  longer  paper-white  under  their  sunburn,  but 
healthily  brown :  his  eyes  were  brilliant  but  steady,  and  he 
carried  himself  less  nervously  erect. 

The  clock  struck  twelve.  * ' Here's  an  unchristian  hour ! ' ' 
said  Lesbia.  "It's  time  we  were  all  in  bed.  Get  you  to 
yours,  Jeannie,  you're  looking  as  tired  as  a  wilted  lily. 
Miss  Dodo,  I'll  go  down  and  see  all  ready.  Bide  you  here 
and  talk  to  your  man. ' ' 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  me?"  Auburn  asked; 
but  Lesbia  sailed  out  of  the  room  without  a  reply,  and  Au 
burn  and  Dodo  were  left  alone  for  the  first  time.  Auburn 
was  lying  back  in  a  big  chair  by  the  fire,  his  long  legs 
stretched  out,  his  bare  feet  thrust  into  slippers.  He  took 
his  cigarette  from  his  lips  and  puffed  out  a  wreath  of  smoke. 
"Ouf  I  Raleigh,  I  hope  your  soul's  in  heaven.  What  are 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  277 

you  going  to  do  with  me,  Dodo ?  Eh?"  Dodo  was  brush 
ing  the  crumbs  from  the  cloth  when  Auburn's  long  lean 
arm  shot  out,  locked  round  her  waist,  and  drew  her  to  him. 
"Come  here  where  I  can  watch  you:  sit  on  the  arm  of  my 
chair.  If  I  had  the  feelings  of  a  gentleman  I  should  get 
up  and  offer  you  my  place:  or  possibly  I  should  take  my 
arm  away  and  let  you  go  and  sit  where  I  could  not  watch 
you,  as  you  seemed  desperately  inclined  to  do.  You  ob 
serve,  I  do  neither.  Indomitable  child!  you've  taken  ex 
traordinary  pains  to  get  me — what  do  you  mean  to  do  with 
me  now  you  have  got  me  ? ' ' 

"Keep  you  here  till  the  hue  and  cry  has  died  down." 

"The  hue  and  cry,"  repeated  Auburn.  "What  penny 
dreadfuls  call  the  sleuth-hounds  of  the  law,  alias  George 
Robyns,  Jan  Polperrow,  Robert  Brown,  and  so  on.  How 
they  must  be  cursing  me  for  sending  them  out  on  a  night 
like  this !  Last  time  a  man  got  away  by  night  one  of  the 
screws  fell  into  Yes  Bog  and  was  as  nearly  as  possible  suf 
focated.  I  have  heard  that  his  language  when  they  got 
him  out  rivalled — rivalled  Jimmy  Jones'.  Or  mine.  Have 
I  sworn  at  you  yet,  Dodo  ?  I  probably  shall.  Princetown 
isn't  a  good  school  of  manners." 

"Well,  yours  were  never  very  good,"  said  Dodo.  "You 
were  always  rather  early  Victorian  on  that  point." 

"I'd  give  sixpence  to  have  been  a  fly  on  the  wall  when 
they  told  Topsy.  It'll  kill  him  if  I  do  get  off.  I  shan't, 
you  know." 

"I  believe  you're  as  safe  here  as  you  would  be  in  the 
Desert  of  Sahara." 

' '  Ah !  but  then  I  doubt  whether  an  escaped  convict  would 
be  safe  in  the  Desert  of  Sahara.  The  hue  and  cry,  my 
love " 

He  broke  off  and  sprang  to  his  feet.  ' '  Talk  of  an  angel ! 
There  it  goes,  if  I'm  not  much  mistaken.  Listen  to  that 
fellow  cantering  down  the  road ! ' ' 

Dodo  held  her  breath,  and  in  the  stillness  heard  plainly 


278  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

the  clicking  triple  time  of  horse-hoofs  coming  down  the  side- 
road  from  the  prison.  "On  his  way  to  Menval  Station," 
said  Auburn.  "I  say,  I  wonder  who  it  is!  I  must  find 
out."  He  made  one  step  to  the  table  and  extinguished  the 
lamp.  "Go  to  the  window  and  ask  him  what's  up!" 

"But,  Charles " 

"Go,  or  I  swear  I'll  go  myself!" 

She  heard  him  laugh  in  the  dark  and  was  seized  with 
sudden  terror:  she  knew  his  reckless  ways  too  well  to  set 
any  limit  to  his  daring.  She  dropped  the  bar  of  the  shutter 
and  threw  up  the  window  just  as  the  horseman  passed :  he 
drew  rein  at  the  noise,  and  turned  in  his  saddle  to  flash  the 
light  of  an  electric  torch  over  Dodo  as  she  leaned  out.  A 
flash  of  lightning  could  not  have  struck  her  more  unex 
pectedly,  and  the  fears  of  a  lifetime  were  crowded  into  the 
moment  that  elapsed  before  her  blinded  eyes  showed  her 
that  Auburn  was  hidden  by  the  curtain. 

"Who's  that?"  called  out  the  rider.  "What  are  you 
doin'  there,  miss?" 

("It's  Robyns,  as  I  live!"  said  Auburn.) 

"We  heard  the  bell  ringing,  and  were  startled,"  Dodo 
answered.  "Is  anything  wrong?" 

"There's  no  need  for  you  to  be  frightened,  miss.  One 
of  our  prisoners  has  got  away,  but  he  can 't  have  gone  far. 
Our  men  are  looking  out  for  him,  I  expect  we'll  get  him 
back  by  morning." 

"Dear,  how  awful!"  Dodo's  clear  tones  floated  down 
with  a  most  natural  tremor  of  alarm.  "An  escaped  con 
vict  quite  close  to  us!"  She  heard  Auburn's  stifled  laugh 
at  her  side,  and  was  ready  to  believe  that  Robyns  would 
hear  it  too.  "I  hope  he's  not  a  very  dangerous  criminal !" 

"Dangerous?  Bless  you,  no,  miss— a  little  bit  of  a 
fellow  that  wouldn't  hurt  a  fly,"  said  Robyns  the  good- 
natured.  ("Confound  your  impudence!"  interjected  Au 
burn.)  "You  look  out  that  all  your  doors  are  well  locked 
and  bolted  and  you  11  be  all  right.  I  must  go  on  now,  but 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  279 

there's  plenty  of  us  about — I'll  tell  some  of  our  chaps  to 
keep  an  eye  on  you." 

He  rode  on.  Dodo  could  scarcely  shut  the  window  for  the 
trembling  of  her  hands,  but  Auburn  had  gone  off  into  a  fit 
of  laughter.  "Oh,  Dodo,  how  rich!  I  wouldn't  have 
missed  that  for  the  world. ' ' 

"Oh,  don't  Charles!" 

"My  darling  what  is  it?" 

He  felt  her  trembling  as  he  took  her  in  his  arms.  ' '  Little 
love,  what  have  I  done  to  you?"  said  Auburn. 

"Oh,  how  could  you?" 

' '  How  could  I  what  ?    My  dearest,  there  was  no  danger ! ' ' 

"If  he'd  seen  you!" 

"Ah!  there  you  have  me,"  said  Auburn  ruefully.  "I 
hadn  't  reckoned  on  his  carrying  a  torch.  I  suppose  it  was  a 
bit  risky,  if  you  come  to  think  about  it." 

"Risky!"  Dodo  repeated.  "You  think  so,  do  you?  It 
dawns  on  you,  in  fact,  by  degrees  ? — Charles,  I  believe  you 
like  playing  with  danger."  Auburn's  impenitent  laugh 
roused  her  to  a  passion  of  impatience.  "Oh,  how  can  you 
be  so  childish,  so  cruel  ? ' ' 

' '  I  forgot.    I  'm  very  sorry. ' ' 

"Say  you  won't  do  it  again." 

"Never,  never,  on  my  honor!  I'll  be  all  that  there  is  of 
most  circumspect!"  Auburn  assured  her.  Dodo  did  not 
dream  of  believing  him,  but  she  allowed  herself  to  be 
coaxed  into  amity,  for,  after  all,  the  danger  was  over,  and 
Auburn's  mad  humor  was  an  essential  element  of  the  Au 
burn  she  loved.  He  drew  her  back  to  the  warm  hearth, 
where  the  fire  had  sunk  to  a  glow  of  coral  shot  with  little 
flames  of  smoky  blue.  "  I  'm  glad  I  'm  not  out  in  that  pitchy 
dark,"  he  said.  "Poor  dear  Robyns,  I  hope  he  won't 
tumble  into  Yes  or  any  other  bog,  he's  a  dear  fellow.  Well, 
Dodo,  I  have  been  a  most  infernal  fool " 

"Amen,"  said  Dodo. 

"And  knave,"  finished  Auburn  calmly.     "Infernal,  I 


*80       AN  ORDEAL  OF  HONOR 

repeat  it.  A  fool,  because  I  probably  shan't  get  away:  a 
knave,  because  if  they  catch  me  I  shall  let  you  in  for  an 
appalling  scandal:  and  lost  to  all  eternity  because — "  he 
hesitated,  even  he,  for  a  moment — "because  I  love  you 
better  than  the  vision  of  God  or  the  dream  of  heaven.  You 
understand  that?" 

"Understand ?" 

"That  I  love  you." 

He  had  her  fast  locked  in  his  arm :  she  could  not  escape 
him.  What  was  not  fear,  but  might  have  been  called  a  fear 
of  fear,  traversed  Dodo's  mind  like  the  gleam  of  a  sword- 
blade:  she  turned  her  steel-clear  eyes  on  Auburn's  dark, 
half -mocking  face.  ' '  Do  you  say  this  to  me  now,  Charles  ? ' ' 

"Yes,"  said  Auburn.  "No.  I  dare  say  you're  right.  I 
owe  this  to  Princetown,  too,  I  suppose.  You  're  half  afraid 
of  me,  are  you?"  His  features  did  not  change,  but  she 
knew  by  intuition  that  he  had  read  her  thoughts  and  that 
they  had  cut  him  to  the  quick.  She  could  find  no  answer, 
and  Auburn  with  a  queer  smile  stepped  back,  took  her 
hand,  and  raised  it  to  his  lips.  "It  has  not  made  a  brute 
of  me,  Dodo,"  he  said.  "I  don't  wonder  you're  nervous, 
though.  It  was  brutalizing  enough :  it  might  have  done  the 
trick,  if  I  hadn't  had  the  memory  of  you  to  keep  me  quiet. 
Still,  thanks  to  you,  I  'm  not  much  changed  in  essentials,  so 
far  as  I  know.  My  respect  for  you  is  undiminished,  I  as 
sure  you " 

"Oh,  don't,"  said  Dodo  quickly.  "Don't  go  on  explain 
ing,  Charles." 

"But " 

"No,  no." 

"But  you  were  half  afraid  of  me?" 

"No,  I  tell  you,  no,"  said  Dodo  imperiously.  "Stay!  I 
won't  lie  to  you.  I  did  have  one  flash  of  doubt  of  you,  but 
it  was  not  because  of  Princetown.  Princetown!"  She 
laughed.  "You  think  so  much  of  that,  and  I  think  so 
little." 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  281 

"What  was  it,  then?" 

"Why,  you  see,  all  the  days  I've  known  you  put  to 
gether  don't  come  to  much  above  six  weeks!  It  flashed 
over  me  that  there  might  be  kinks  in  you  that  I  knew 
nothing  of,  and  that  one  of  them  might  be  to  think  lightly 
of  a  woman  who  had  thrown  herself  into  your  arms,  as  I 
have.  Is  that  frank  enough?" 

"Frank  enough,"  Auburn  assented.  "You  don't  think 
it  now?" 

"Oh  no.  Your  eyes,  my  dear,  when  you  saw  what  I 
thought,  were  more — considerably  more — eloquent  than 
your  speech. 

"I  may  tell  you  that  I  love  you,  then?  You  won't  think 
I'm  trading  on  your  frankness — ?"  Dodo  sprang  up  to 
silence  him,  and,  as  if  against  his  will,  again  came  that  long 
embrace,  terrible  in  its  repressed  passion,  crushing  her 
against  his  heart,  making  her  feel  all  the  ache  and  all  the 
sadness  of  those  long  intolerable  nights  when  he  had  lain 
awake  thinking  of  her.  1 '  Oh,  my  God, ' '  she  heard  him  say, 
"this — this  is  heaven." 

"And  the  other  has  been  hell?" 

"Very  like  it." 

"All  the  time?" 

"Yes,  all  the  time." 

"Charles,  were  you  afraid  of  going  madt" 

"Sometimes." 

"At  night?" 

"Yes." 

"Why  was  it  so  bad?    The  humiliation?" 

She  felt  him  shudder  from  head  to  foot,  but  he  crushed 
down  the  rising  wildness  and  answered  quietly:  "Yes,  the 
humiliation  and  the  inability  to — I  can't  express  myself." 

"The  feeling  that  you  couldn't  get  out?" 

"Yes." 

"Those  insufferable  little  spy-holes?" 

"Those,  too." 


282  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

"Let  us  have  it  out  between  us,  Charles." 

"I—can't." 

"To  me." 

"Not  even  to  you." 

"Yes,  to  me,  once." 

Again  she  felt  him  shudder,  but  she  was  ruthless:  she 
read  him  too  profoundly  to  let  him  go.  She  had  never  seen 
him  in  one  of  his  fits  of  despair,  but  she  knew  them  to  be 
the  inevitable,  if  rare,  complement  of  his  fits  of  reckless 
gaiety,  and  she  knew  too  that  dark  memories  nursed  in  pri 
vacy  are  the  stuff  of  which  despair  is  made.  At  length  he 
said,  "Well,  you  ought  to  know  how  near  a  man  has  got 
to  the  wild  beasts,  if  you're  going  to  marry  him.  Look 
here."  He  stood  away,  stretching  out  his  sinewy  lean  arm, 
and  laid  the  other  hand  on  certain  odd  red  marks — a  small 
double  row — that  disfigured  the  smooth,  brown  skin.  "Do 
you  know  what  that  is?" 

"No,"  said  Dodo:  not  without  a  suspicion  that  she  did. 

"I'll  tell  you,  though  I  expect  it  will  make  you  rather 
sick.  It  was  one  night  last  August :  a  red-hot  night  after  a 
red-hot  day.  .  .  .  The  worst  that  one  can  go  through  is  to 
see  this  life  as  it  is  ...  so  short  .  .  .  and  such  torment. 
I  couldn't  sleep  ...  I  didn't  want  to  be  marched  off  to 
the  padded  room,  so — I  bit  into  it  like  an  apple. ' ' 

"And  did  that  cure  you?"  Dodo  asked  with  a  choking 
gasp  of  laughter. 

"Clean.  What  with  the  pain,  by  Jove!  didn't  it  sting! 
and  the — the  general  queerness  of  the  flavor,  it  brought  me 
np  with  a  round  turn " 

He  broke  off.  The  door  had  opened  to  admit  Lesbia, 
candle  in  hand,  her  dark,  stern  eyes  softening  as  they  fell 
on  Auburn's  face.  There  were  times  when  Dodo  wondered 
whether  even  Jeannie,  despite  the  tie  of  blood,  were  so  dear 
to  Lesbia  as  this  foster  son  of  hers,  who  had  from  the  first 
taken  the  place  of  the  little  dead  son. 

"What,  all  in  the  dark?"  said  Lesbia.     "Ah,  it's  well 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  288 

to  be  young.  Come  to  bed,  my  lad :  a  night's  rest  will  settle 
your  nerves — not  to  mention  that  you'll  be  none  the  worse 
of  a  good  wash." 

She  led  the  way  down  to  the  hall,  where  Auburn  peered 
curiously  at  what  he  could  see  of  Mr.  Carpenter's  Eves,  and 
had  the  imprudence  to  ask  if  they  were  Caron  's  doing :  and 
thence  by  a  second  flight  of  stairs  into  the  cellar,  where, 
throwing  open  a  door  at  the  farther  end,  she  ushered  Au 
burn  into  what  had  once  no  doubt  been  a  wine-vault,  but 
was  now  transformed  into  a  rough  but  tolerably  comfort 
able  bedroom.  An  oil  stove  kept  it  warm,  a  thick  Persian 
carpet  covered  the  stone  floor,  and  a  reading  lamp  burned 
brightly  on  a  table  littered  with  books  and  magazines.  Au 
burn  stood  in  the  doorway  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets 
and  primmed  his  mouth  to  a  long,  low  whistle.  "Oh,  you 
women!"  he  said,  "you  certainly  have  done  the  thing 
thoroughly." 

"You're  to  stay  here  for  a  night  or  two,"  Dodo  ex 
plained,  "in  case  by  any  wild  chance  they  should  want  to 
look  over  the  house.  There's  no  key  to  the  door,  it  fastens 
with  a  spring,  and  there  are  two  strong  bolts  on  the  inside, 
so  that  I  could  truthfully  tell  them  I  can't  open  it.  But 
they  won't  want  to  get  in :  why  should  they?  There's  abso 
lutely  nothing  to  connect  me  with  the  affair." 

"There  are  your  clothes  for  to-morrow,"  Lesbia  said, 
pointing  to  a  suit  of  Roland's  rough  tweeds  laid  out  on  the 
bed.  ' '  And  hot  water  for  your  tub, ' '  she  indicated  a  couple 
of  smoking  cans.  "Now  get  to  bed  and  to  sleep,  my  boy, 
for  I  do  believe  you  may  lie  down  in  safety." 

"For  two  pins  I'd  go  back  and  give  myself  up.'  ' 

"What  maggot  have  you  got  in  your  head  now?" 

"Suppose  they  did  catch  me,  and  that  they  caught  me 
here,  what  would  that  mean,  for  you  two?" 

"I  believe  two  years  is  the  maximum  penalty,"  said 
Dodo.  "I'd  risk  my  life  for  you  with  great  pleasure,  dear 


284-      AN  ORDEAL  OF  HONOR 

boy,  but  the  regulations  won't  let  me — also  there  isn't  a 
shadow  of  risk." 

"For  two  pins  I'd  go  back  now  and  give  myself  up." 
"Do:  and  I'll  come  with  you  and  tell  them  how  you  filed 
the  bars." 

"Dodo,  you  really  have  very  fine  eyes,"  said  Auburn 
irrelevantly.  "They  flash  like  steel."  He  threw  his  arm 
round  her  and  dropped  a  kiss  on  either  eyelid,  laughing  at 
Lesbia's  Puritan  frown.  "Come,  we'll  fight  it  out,  then! 
and  by  all  that's  ironical,  we'll  swear  Hugh  Kose  over 
under  seal  of  confession  to  marry  us.  He 's  a  sportsman — I 
believe  he'd  do  it.  Good-night,  old  Lesbia — good-night, 
Lady  Auburn!" 


XXIX. 

A  PRISONER  had  escaped.  The  alarm  bell  was 
ringing  up  at  the  prison:  quiet  country  folk  heard 
it  and  sat  up  in  bed  with  scared  faces:  anxious  husbands 
stole  barefoot  down  to  look  to  bolt  and  bar.  Dartmoor  had 
never  grown  used  to  such  incidents,  although  they  com 
monly  ended,  after  a  day's  manhunt,  in  the  recapture  of  a 
starved  and  whimpering  wretch,  too  broken-spirited  to  show 
fight.  A  thrill  of  joy,  dashed  with  envy,  ran  through  the 
prison  itself :  a  prisoner  had  escaped ! 

In  the  morning  news  more  definite — and  more  sensational 
— came  round  with  the  milk,  with  the  butcher,  with  the 
baker.  The  fugitive  was  a  man  to  be  feared,  a  ''lifer,"  a 
murderer,  notorious  for  one  brutal  crime  and  desperate 
enough  to  stick  at  nothing.  A  strong  force  of  warders 
were  out  scouring  the  moors  for  a  man  in  prison  dress 
marked  with  the  broad  arrow,  and  the  loaded  guns  of  the 
civil  guard  commanded  the  high  roads.  The  news  was 
flashed  along  the  wires  up  and  down  the  line.  It  was 
in  London  in  the  small  hours,  and  by  breakfast  time  the 
newsboys  of  one  enterprising  journal  were  bawling  it  along 
the  streets:  "Escype  of  a  Convick!  Escype  of  the  Convick 
Orburn!  All  the  detiles!"  and  so  on,  leather-lunged. 

Three  men  who  had  been  breakfasting  together,  when 
they  heard  the  cries,  could  not  believe  their  ears.  Sir 
George  Trevor,  called  to  town  on  business,  had  sent  for 
Caron  Carminow  from  his  studio  and  Roden  from  his 
flat  to  give  him  news  of  their  doings.  They  were  talking 
in  a  group  by  the  window  when  the  harsh  cry  was  raised 
in  the  street  below,  and  they  were  all  visibly  startled. 

285 


286  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

"Nonsense,  it  can't  be!"  said  Caron,  leaning  out  to  peer 
at  the  news-sheet. 

Sir  George  spoke  over  his  shoulder  to  a  servant.  ' '  Get  me 
one  of  those  papers,  will  you  ? ' ' 

When  it  came,  he  sent  the  man  out  before  he  opened  it. 
The  broad  black  headlines  seized  his  eye  at  once: 

ESCAPE   OF  A  CONVICT   FROM  DARTMOOR. 

THE   AUBURN  MURDERER   AT    LARGE. 

WHO    FILED    THE   BARS? 

Extraordinary  Details 
by  our  Special  Correspondent, 

who  happened  in  the  present  case  to  be  an  enterprising  local 
schoolmaster,  revised  and  expanded  in  Fleet  Street.  Sir 
George  held  up  the  paper  before  him,  and  the  others  read 
it  leaning  over  his  shoulder.  When  it  was  done,  all  three 
betrayed  an  equal  indisposition  to  meet  one  another's  eyes. 

"A  most  extraordinary  story — most  extraordinary,"  said 
Sir  George. 

"I  say,  you  know — who  did  file  those  bars?"  said  Caron. 

"I  must  go,  Sir  George,"  said  Roden.  "I'm  awfully 
sorry,  but  I  believe  there's  an  express  down  that  will  just 
give  me  time  to  see  my  chief  at  Whitehall." 

"I'll  come  too." 

"And  so,  if  you'll  let  me,  will  I,"  said  Sir  George  very 
gravely.  "I  think,  my  dear  boys,  it  will  do  our  little  girl 
no  harm  to  have  some  one  rather  older  and  more  experi 
enced  than  yourselves  to  look  after  her.  If  by  any 
chance " 

"If  what?"  said  Caron  bluntly. 

"If _if »  saia  K0den:  "leave  it  at  that,  Car.  Do 

come,  Sir  George.  It's  most  good  of  you  to  suggest  it,  and 
we  shall  be  very  glad  to  have  you,  if  you  can  spare  the  time 
from  your  business." 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  287 

"Your  father's  daughter  is  my  most  urgent  business," 
said  Sir  George. 

They  reached  Menval  by  five  o'clock,  and  the  reality  of 
the  affair  was  at  once  brought  home  to  them  by  the  sight 
of  a  warder  stationed  on  the  platform  with  a  loaded  gun. 
As  they  walked  up  through  the  village  they  passed  a  notice 
posted  on  a  hoarding,  and  Caron  halted  to  read  it.  "Pris 
oner  just  escaped!  November  3rd,  between  9  and  11  p.m. 
Registered  number,  L.A.,  27,  Charles  St.  Leger  Auburn. 
Convicted  of  murder  at  Hillingdon  Assizes,  penal  servitude 
for  life.  Born  at  Auburn,  aged  thirty-eight  years  and 
eight  months;  dark  complexion,  reddish  hair,  brown  eyes, 
height  six  feet  one  and  a  half  inches.  At  time  of  his  es 
cape  he  was  wearing  a  brown  Glengarry  cap,  brown  cloth 
jacket,  beverteen  breeches,  blue  stockings  with  red  stripes, 
brown  worsted  shirt,  pair  of  shoes,  forefinger  nail  of  right 
hand  blackened,  scar  on  left  wrist. ' ' 

' '  Good  heavens,  how  cold-blooded ! ' '  said  the  artist,  shiv 
ering.  He  was  sensitive  to  such  impressions,  and  the  dry, 
bare,  mean  record  degraded  his  memory  of  Auburn  to  its 
own  level. 

Hurrying  on  after  Sir  George  and  Roden,  he  turned  a 
corner  of  the  street  just  as  they  came  to  the  gate  of  Heather 
Cottage.  It  was  a  dreary  evening,  the  sky  darkened  by 
many  folds  of  cloud  and  mist,  brown  over  grey:  the  sun 
was  not  long  down,  however,  and  had  left  a  few  embers  to 
smoulder  red  on  the  rim  of  the  horizon,  and  by  that  dim 
half-light  Caron  distinctly  saw  the  head  of  a  man  rise  up 
over  the  hedge  that  bordered  the  opposite  side  of  the  road. 
He  had  seen  that  cap  and  coat  in  illustrations  too  often  to 
be  mistaken,  and  they  sent  a  chill  to  his  blood:  why  in 
heaven's  name  should  a  prison  warder  be  furtively  on 
guard  over  Heather  Cottage? 

They  rapped  at  the  door.  It  was  opened  to  them  by 
Lesbia,  singularly  pale  and  set,  though  not  a  thread  was 
astray  in  her  dark  bands  of  hair. 


288  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

"What  do  you  want  now ?"  she  was  beginning,  when 

she  recognized  Roden;  "Mr.  Roden!  God  bless  us  all,  what 
brings  you  down  here  ? ' ' 

' '  Where 's  my  sister  ? ' '  Roden  asked.  Before  Lesbia  could 
reply  Dodo  herself,  lint-white  but  cool,  appeared  on  the 
threshold. 

"Good  boys,"  she  said.  "I  knew  you'd  come.  And, 
what — Sir  George  Trevor?  Oh,  how  very  good  of  you! 
But  I'm  sorry,  sorry  you  should  have  troubled  about  me. 
You've  heard  the  news,  then?" 

"Indeed  we  have,"  said  Sir  George  gravely.  He  fol 
lowed  Dodo  into  the  small,  prim,  white  and  blue  parlor, 
hung  round  with  water-colors  from  Stanton  Mere,  which 
she  had  planned  to  make  over  to  Auburn's  masculine  dis 
order.  Sir  George  sat  down,  erect  and  soldierly,  in  an  oaken 
armchair,  while  Dodo  remained  standing,  her  white  youth- 
fulness  set  off  by  her  heavy  black  serge  dress.  "The  boys 
were  breakfasting  with  me  when  we  heard  them  calling  it 
out  in  the  streets." 

"Oh!  surely  it's  not  in  London  already?" 

"What's  not  in  London?"  said  Roden  quickly. 

"Oh,  you  haven't  heard?"  She  slipped  her  hand  into 
Roden 's,  and  saw  that  he  was  paler  than  herself.  "No,  no, 
they  haven't  caught  him — they  won't,  they  can't  do  that! 
But  a  most  tiresome  thing  has  happened.  The  prison  offi 
cials  have  taken  it  into  their  heads  that  Charles  came  here 
after  he  escaped,  and  sheltered  somewhere  on  the  premises. ' ' 

"Good  heavens!  you  don't  mean  to  say  they've  found 
out ?" 

"My  name?  No,  they  can't  have:  not  a  soul  here  knows 
it,  I'm  certain  of  that.  It's  a  pure  coincidence." 

"But  what  has  given  them  this  idea?"  asked  Sir  George. 

"I  can't  imagine,"  said  Dodo.  "The  men  this  morning 
said  something  about  tracking  him  by  his  shoes — you  know, 
they  all  have  the  broad  arrow  marked  on  the  sole — but 
that's  impossible,  because " 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  289 

"Because  what?" 

"Oh — how  could  they  follow  such  a  track  all  the  way 
from  Provincetown  ?  It's  a  mile  by  the  road;  besides,  it's 
absurd  to  suppose  he  would  have  come  by  the  road,"  an 
swered  Dodo.  She  left  on  them  all  the  impression  that  she 
had  not  said  what  she  had  been  going  to  say,  as  was  indeed 
the  fact:  for  her  real  thought  was  that  Auburn  could  not 
well  have  been  traced  by  the  shoes  that  he  had  carried  in 
his  pocket.  "It's  nothing  but  a  pretext." 

"Have  they  been  over  the  house,  then?" 

"Yes,  they  would  go.  It  has  made  poor  Jeannie  quite 
ill:  she's  not  at  all  strong,  you  know,  and  nothing  could 
possibly  be  worse  for  her  than  this  excitement.  And  I 
believe  there  are  warders  watching  outside  now." 

"I  saw  one  as  I  came  in,"  said  Caron. 

"Oh!  surely  they  can't  mean  to  stay  all  night?"  Dodo 
cried  out,  clenching  her  hands  together.  "It  is  horrible 
that  we  should  be  so  spied  on ! " 

' '  It 's  most  extraordinary.  Are  they  coming  back,  do  you 
suppose?" 

"You  hear  what  Caron  says :  they've  never  gone." 

"But  will  they  renew  the  search?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know:  how  should  I  know,  Sir  George?  I 
can't  conceive  how  they  can — I  thought  one  was  safe  in 
one's  own  house!" 

"It's  a  thousand  pities  you  ever  came  down  here  at  all," 
said  Sir  George,  unable  to  restrain  himself  any  longer. 
' '  Now,  my  dear,  you  see — if  you  had  taken  my  advice  like 
a  sensible  girl " 

"Of  course!"  Dodo  broke  in,  with  a  fire-flash  of  some 
thing  deeper  than  impatience,  "but  how  could  any  one 
foresee  what  would  happen  ?  Who  would  ever  have  thought 
of  this?" 

So  the  cry  of  all  the  hunted  and  the  tracked  rose  to  her 
lips :  who  would  ever  have  thought  of  this  ?  Guard  against 
all  imaginable  danger,  lay  your  plans  with  the  most  con- 


290  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

siderate  care,  there  will  always  remain,  somewhere,  the  one 
fatal  trifle  that  damns  you. 

' '  I  'm  glad  it 's  no  worse, ' '  said  Sir  George  frankly.  ' '  To 
tell  you  the  truth,  my  dear,  I've  had  a  horrid  uncertain 
feeling  about  it  all.  I  was  sure  my  old  friend's  little  girl 
would  have  too  much  right  principle  and  delicacy  of  feeling 
to  mix  herself  up  in  an  affair  of  this  kind :  and  yet  I  felt 
that  it  would  have  been  very,  very  hard  for  you  to  know 
how  to  act  if  this  wretched  fellow  had  thrown  himself  on 
your  compassion.  I  suppose  there 's  no  danger  of  his  trying 
to  come  here  now  ? ' ' 

' '  What,  Charles  Auburn  ? "  It  was  Caron  's  turn  to  strike 
in,  for  neither  Dodo  nor  Eoden  could  find  an  answer  to  their 
mind.  "Look  here,  sir,  that's  too  bad!  He  may  be  a  con 
vict,  but  he  isn  't  an  outsider. ' ' 

"I'm  glad  if  you  think  he  has  enough  remains  of  gen 
tlemanly  feeling "began  Sir  George : — "dear  me,  who's 

that?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  Dodo  said,  feeling  as  if  she  were 
living  in  a  nightmare.  "More  of  those  awful  warders,  I 
suppose.  What  can  they  want?  they've  looked  in  every 
room." 

She  went  with  dragging  steps  to  the  door,  the  men  crowd 
ing  after  her  into  the  narrow  hall.  A  big,  well-set-up  man 
of  five-and-forty,  once  a  sergeant  of  Marines,  now  wearing 
the  trim  dark  uniform  of  a  prison  warder,  stood  on  the 
threshold.  "What  do  you  want?"  said  Dodo. 

"Miss  Chaston,  is  it,  miss?"  Dodo  bowed.  "I'm  Chief 
Warder  Wynne,  miss,  and  I'm  sorry  to  say  I  must  ask  you 
to  let  me  have  another  look  over  the  house.  We  don 't  want 
to  cause  you  any  inconvenience " 

"Then  why  do  you?  Your  men  have  been  all  over  the 
house  once  before  to-day." 

"Very  sorry,  miss,  but  it  can't  be  helped " 

"I  should  be  glad  to  know  what  authority  you  have  for 
this  search."  It  was  Sir  George  who  came  forward,  look- 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  291 

ing  very  tall,  soldierly,  and  commanding.  "Here's  my 
card,  Mr.  "Wynne:  I'm  a  justice  of  the  peace,  and  I  don't 
exactly  see  what  object  there  can  be  in  twice  searching  a 
house  the  size  of  this.  It's  absurd  to  suppose  a  man  could 
be  hidden  here  without  Miss  Chaston  's  knowledge. ' ' 

"Is  this  lady  related  to  you,  sir,  may  I  ask?" 

"Not  a  relation,  but  a  friend  of  many  years'  standing.  I 
look  on  her  as  my  own  daughter." 

' '  Well,  then,  Sir  George — I  '11  show  you  my  warrant  with 
pleasure ;  I  've  shown  it  to  this  lady  once  before  to-day ;  but 
I  reckon  you  must  see  for  yourself  there's  good  reason  for 
making  a  pretty  thorough  search.  When  ladies  come  down 
to  places  under  assumed  names " 

"Dodo!"  cried  Sir  George. 

"Yes,  sir:  Miss  Dodo  Carminow,  isn't  it?  and  not  Miss 
Dorothea  Chaston.  "Well,  naturally,  when  that  comes  to 
light " 

"How  did  it  come  to  light?"  asked  Caron.  Wynne 
looked  at  him  thoughtfully. 

"I  don't  know  as  there's  any  objection  to  my  telling  you, 
it's  bound  to  come  out  pretty  soon.  Miss  Carminow  was 
recognized  by  one  of  Auburn's  mates,  that  worked  in  the 
same  gang  along  of  him.  He  was  a  Hampshire  man,  and 
he  knew  Auburn  before  he  came  here — that  is,  he'd  seen 
him,  I  should  say,  and  Miss  Carminow  too!  He  was  in 
court  the  day  of  Auburn's  trial.  Yesterday  afternoon  he 
saw  Miss  Carminow  walkin'  along  the  road  where  they 
was  all  workin':  passed  quite  close  to  Auburn,  she  did— on 
the  same  side  of  the  road " 

"And  on  the  word  of  this  convicted  felon " 

"Pardon  me,  sir.  As  soon  as  the  Governor  heard  the 
tale — which  wasn't  till  the  middle  of  the  morning,  when 
Jones  got  leave  to  see  him — he  'phoned  to  Hillingdon  to 
get  Miss  Carminow 's  description,  and  they  wired  up  to  the 
police  at  Stanton  Mere,  where  I  understand  the  young  lady 
comes  from.  After  we'd  heard  back  we  felt  we  could  get  a 


898  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

move  on:  though  I  wasn't  rightly  satisfied  in  my  own  mind 
— it  being  such  an  unlikely  job — till  I  heard  what  you 
called  her  just  now." 

"But  it's  perfectly  impossible  she  should  have  any 
thing  to  do  with  it"  said  Sir  George,  aghast. 

"Ah  well,  you  see,  that's  what  we've  got  to  find  out," 
answered  Wynne  phlegmatically. 

Meanwhile  Dodo,  who  was  not  curious  of  these  details  had 
gone  back  to  the  parlor.  She  was  standing  idle  by  the 
window  when  Koden  came  in,  and  came  to  her  side,  and 
threw  his  arm  round  her  neck. 

"My  darling.  Is  he  here  ?  Let  me  have  the  truth,  Dodo. ' ' 

"Yes." 

"Oh,  good  heavens!    Where?" 

"Barred  in  downstairs.  They  must  break  the  door  down 
to  get  in:  do  you  think  they  will?  I'm  not  sure  I  can't 
bluff  them  even  yet — I  did  this  morning." 

"They  have  surer  ground  to  go  on  now.  If  they  do 
find  him,  will  there  be  any  chance  of  denying  your  con 
nivance?" 

"Not  in  that  room." 

"It  will  be  an  awful  scandal." 

"I  don't  care." 

"Nor  I,  much.  Does  he  know  they're  after  him?" 

"He  knows  they  searched  the  house.  After  they  left  he 
wanted  to  make  a  dash  for  it  at  once  and  get  away  across 
the  moors." 

"Why?" 

"To  avoid  compromising  me,  of  course:  but  I  forbade 
him  to  go  before  nightfall,  at  all  events.  He'd  have  been 
caught  to  a  dead  certainty." 

"Does  he  know  that  the  place  is  watched?" 

"Not  unless  he  has  seen  or  heard  the  warders  through 
his  window.  I  haven't  gone  near  him  since  the  morning: 
I  daren't.  He  is  quite  reckless,  you  know,  quite  mad:  he 
thinks  of  nothing  but  the  risk  to  me.  He'd  give  himself  up 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  293 

like  a  shot  to  save  me  from  a  breath  of  suspicion.  Luckily 
he  can't — that  room  would  ruin  me." 

"They'll  certainly  search  it." 

' '  In  the  end :  but  what  I  want  is  to  gain  time.  It  is  going 
to  be  a  pitch-dark  night.  If  I  can  keep  Wynne  off  for  an 
hour  and  lessen  the  guard  round  the  house,  Charles  may 
yet  get  away  by  the  window.  He  has  clothes  and  money, 
he  would  have  a  better  chance  than  most  of  them — Come 
in!" 

Wynne's  knock  and  entry  cut  short  their  murmured 
talk.  He  had  a  couple  of  subordinates  at  his  heels,  and  it 
soon  appeared  that  he  meditated  an  exhaustive  search. 
While  he  was  asking  preliminary  questions  of  Dodo,  Roden 
took  a  cursory  view  of  the  state  of  affairs,  and  found  as  he 
had  expected,  that  Heather  Cottage  was  besieged.  There 
was  no  cover  near  it,  unless  a  tool  shed,  a  hedge  of  lavender, 
and  a  few  stripped  shrubs  of  lilac  could  be  so  described :  a 
couple  of  wardens  with  loaded  guns  were  enough  to  com 
mand  every  door  and  window.  Until  it  came  night,  and 
unless  one  warder  could  be  called  away,  it  seemed  that 
Auburn  had  small  chance.  It  was  with  no  slight  astonish 
ment  that  Roden  came  on  Lesbia  in  the  garden,  digging  a 
border  for  dear  life :  she  could  not  bear  to  bide  within  four 
walls  when  her  boy  was  in  danger.  Roden  had  some  notion 
of  speaking  to  her,  but  finally  turned  away.  He  had  noth 
ing  to  say  to  Lesbia  that  could  be  said  within  earshot  of  a 
listener. 

Returning,  he  found  the  search  in  full  swing.  A  warder 
was  posted  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  while  Wynne,  and  Dodo 
with  him,  went  over  the  ground  floor.  Caron  and  Sir 
George  had  taken  refuge  in  the  kitchen,  the  latter  looking 
much  out  of  place  (he  had  probably  not  been  in  a  kitchen 
for  many  years)  as  he  leaned  against  the  dresser,  the 
former  talking  in  low  tones  to  Jeannie,  who  had  dragged 
herself  down  to  her  settle  beside  the  fire,  but  was  haggard 
and  white  enough  for  any  degree  of  guilt.  Roden,  in  the 


294  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

restlessness  of  misery,  followed  Wynne  and  Dodo  from 
room  to  room.  He  was  struck — and  so,  he  thought,  was 
Wynne — by  Dodo's  ready  frankness,  her  cool  unshaken 
calm. 

Ere  long  Wynne  had  satisfied  himself  that  on  the  ground 
floor  not  so  much  as  a  contraband  mouse  was  to  be  found. 
He  came  back  through  the  kitchen  with  Dodo.  "We'll  go 
downstairs  now,  miss,  if  you  please." 

"Into  the  cellar?    One  moment  while  I  get  a  light." 

Jeannie  jumped  up  to  fetch  a  candle,  neither  she  nor 
Dodo  showing  any  sign  of  reluctance:  and  Dodo  led  the 
way  down,  as  she  had  led  the  way  for  Auburn  not  twenty- 
four  hours  before.  Taking  the  candle  from  her,  and  flash 
ing  it  over  every  corner,  Wynne  looked  about  him  keenly 
in  the  half -dark  passage :  but  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen 
except  an  empty  packing-case,  some  soda-water  bottles,  and 
a  couple  of  whitewashed  doors.  "We'll  go  in  here,  please, 
miss,"  he  said,  indicating  the  first  of  these. 

"It's  the  wine-cellar,"  said  Dodo,  unlocking  it.  "We 
don't  use  it:  we  none  of  us  drink  anything  but  water." 
Wynne  looked  in  and  saw  a  plain  square  vault,  floor  and 
walls  of  stone,  shuttered  window  high  up  at  one  side.  He 
nodded  and  withdrew.  "Now  in  here,"  he  said,  laying  his 
hand  on  Auburn's  door. 

"You  must  go  in  there?" 

"Why,  yes,  miss." 

"I  knew  you  would  want  to:  I'm  sorry,  you'll  have  to 
break  the  door  down.  I  haven't  got  the  key." 

"Not  got  the  key?" 

"No.  I've  never  had  a  key  to  it,  and  as  we  didn't  use 
it  I've  never  had  one  made." 

Wynne  turned  and  looked  at  her.  "Do  you  mean  to  say 
we  can't  get  in?" 

"Only  by  breaking  the  door." 

"I  must  see  inside  somehow,"  said  Wynne.  He  held  up 
the  candle  to  the  door:  it  was  solidly  built,  and  would 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  295 

cost  some  pains  to  break  down.  Watching  Dodo  out  of 
the  tail  of  his  eye,  "Wynne  gave  it  a  sounding  kick  with  his 
heavy  foot,  but  there  was  no  sound  from  within,  nor  any 
sign  of  fear  on  Dodo's  tranquil  face.  ''Sure  you  haven't 
got  a  key  that  will  fit  it,  miss?" 

"No;  there  are  no  other  locks  in  the  house  as  big  as 
these." 

"Maybe  the  key  of  the  other  door ?"  Wynne  sug 
gested,  thrusting  it  into  the  lock :  but  it  would  not  fit,  and 
Wynne  drew  back  grumbling. 

"Can't  you  get  a  man  to  take  it  off  its  hinges?"  said 
Dodo.  "I  don't  want  Mr.  Carpenter's  door  smashed;  I 
shall  have  to  pay  for  having  it  mended.  The  two  rooms  are 
exactly  alike." 

"Exactly  alike,  are  they?" 

"Yes:  plain  square  rooms,  built  of  stone." 

"Nothing  inside  at  all?"  asked  Wynne,  again  turning 
to  look  at  her. 

"Not  a  single  bottle." 

"Indeed,  miss?  I  thought  you  said  you'd  never  been 
inside?" 

"Oh!"  said  Dodo,  outraged.  "Really,  Mr.  Wynne,  if 
I  wanted  to  tell  stories  I'd  do  it  better  than  that !  I  did  not 
say  I'd  never  been  into  it,  I  said  I  could  not  get  in  now. 
Mrs.  Carpenter  took  me  in  when  I  first  came  to  look  over 
the  house.  I  believe  the  key  was  lost  in  their  move." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  miss,"  said  Wynne,  relaxing  into 
a  smile,  "but  it  did  sound  a  bit  queer,  you  know.  Well, 
look  here:  I  must  see  inside,  but  I  don't  want  to  give  more 
trouble  than  what  I  need.  Ill  send  a  message  up  for  on§ 
of  our  men  to  come  down  and  pick  the  lock,  hell  get  it 
open  in  no  time." 

1 '  Why,  that 's  the  very  thing ! ' '  exclaimed  Dodo.  ' '  Why 
didn't  I  think  of  it  before?" 

For  the  sound  reason  that,  if  she  had,  Wynne  would  have 
feared  a  trick,  whereas  now  his  doubt  of  Dodo  was  hand- 


296  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

somely  shaken.  Meanwhile  the  dusk  was  falling  fast,  and 
Roden  recollected  that  one  warder  would  be  called  off  to 
carry  Wynne's  message:  let  but  night  come  before  that 
door  was  opened,  and  there  was  a  chance — a  bare  chance, 
and  no  more — that  Auburn  might  get  away  to  the  open 
moor.  But  what  an  issue  for  Dodo! 

"Now,  miss,  if  you  please,"  said  "Wynne,  "we'll  go  up 
stairs  and  finish  off,  while  we  can  see  our  way  about  a  bit. 
It  won't  take  long,  being  as  it's  only  a  formality:  he'd 
never  try  to  hide  in  the  bedrooms  in  a  little  place  like 
this." 

Leaving  one  warder  posted  at  the  stair  foot  and  a  second 
in  the  hall,  they  went  up.  Heather  Cottage  was  but  one 
story  high,  and  the  three  rooms  all  opened  off  the  small, 
square  landing,  which  was  in  view  of  Smith  below.  Dodo 
threw  open  her  own  door,  and  Wynne  soon  satisfied  him 
self  that  her  big  press  contained  only  dresses,  and  that  her 
small  bedstead  masked  nothing  more  dangerous  than  a 
bandbox.  Lesbia's  chamber  was  even  barer  than  Miss  Car- 
minow's.  Finally,  he  came  to  the  room  that  had  been 
Jeannie 's,  where  Auburn  had  supped  that  night. 

"This  the  last  room,  miss?"  he  said,  trying  the 
handles — ''Dear  me,  why,  this  is  locked,  now!" 

"Surely  not,"  said  Dodo,  surprised. 

She  tried  it,  but  it  would  not  open.  She  called  down  the 
stairs,  "Jean  darling,  did  you  lock  your  door?  We  want 
the  key." 

"Eh?"  said  Jeannie,  appearing  from  the  kitchen.  "I 
never  locked  it!" 

"Then  Lesbia  must  have,"  said  Dodo,  perplexed.  "Or 
does  it  ever  stick?" 

"I  never  knew  it,"  said  Jeannie,  rattling  the  handle. 
She  bent  down  to  look  at  the  keyhole.  "Why,  the  key's  in 
it — it's  locked  on  the  inside!" 

"Locked  on  the  inside!"  Wynne  repeated  sharply. 
"What's  that?  Stand  away  there,  if  you  please,  miss." 


AN    ORDEAL   OF   HONOR  297 

"But  there's  some  mistake!"  said  Dodo,  "why,  the  men 
were  in  here  this  morning!"  She  looked  round  and  saw 
that  Caron  and  Sir  George  had  followed  Jeannie,  and  read 
on  every  face  the  same  suspicion:  and  still  no  realization 
of  the  truth  came  to  her,  so  prepossessed  was  she  with  a 
different  danger.  "There  is  some  mistake,"  she  said. 

"Let  me  call  Lesbia "  Her  voice  died  as  she  heard 

Wynne's  firm,  decisive  summons  to  the  prisoner  whom  he 
believed  to  be  within. 

" — All  the  windows  are  commanded,  so  it's  no  good  your 
trying  to  escape.  You'd  better  make  up  your  mind  to  come 
quietly,  it  '11  be  best  for  you  in  the  long-run. ' ' 

There  was  no  sound.  Wynne  put  the  women  aside  and 
called  to  Smith.  Dodo  saw  that  they  were  both  armed  and 
ready  to  use  their  weapons.  "Now,  then,  Auburn,"  said 
Wynne,  "if  you're  there,  d'you  mean  to  give  us  the  job  of 
breaking  open  this  young  lady's  door?" 

Light  firm  steps  crossed  the  room :  the  key  turned  in  the 
lock,  the  door  opened,  and  Auburn  stood  on  the  threshold. 
He  was  dressed  in  his  convict  rags,  and  after  the  unspeak 
able  strain  of  twelve  hours  in  hiding  he  looked  as  Dodo 
had  never  imagined  him — demoralized,  and  degraded,  and 
cowed.  Wynne  raised  his  revolver  and  covered  him:  but 
that  precaution  was  unnecessary.  He  walked  out  into  the 
middle  of  the  waiting  group,  and  held  out  his  hands,  crossed 
at  the  wrists.  "I  am  willing  to  come  quietly,  sir,"  he  said 

"That's  sensible  of  you,"  said  Wynne,  slipping  the  hand 
cuffs  on  with  a  deft  professional  touch.  "You've  given 
enough  trouble  as  it  is.  I  should  just  like  to  know  how  you 
got  into  that  room,  though.  Where  were  you  when  Mr. 
Brown  came  round  this  morning?" 

"I  can't  tell  you,  sir." 

"Oh,  you  can't,  can't  you?" 

"No,  sir.  I  shall  not  give  you  or  any  one  the  details  of 
my  escape.  But  one  thing  you'll  bear  me  out  in,  Mr. 
Wynne,  and  that  is  that  this  lady  was  not  responsible  for 


298  AN    ORDEAL    OF   HONOR 

my  appearance."  He  had  not  once  looked  at  Dodo,  who 
stood  motionless,  her  hands  clasped  against  her  breast, 
where  in  the  dark  of  the  moor  fog  Auburn's  head  had  lain. 
"It  was  a — a  surprise  to  her." 

"You  infernal  scamp !"  Sir  George  burst  out,  "how  dare 
you  come  here?" 

Roden  struck  in  to  give  Auburn  his  cue.  "Miss  Car- 
minow  's  was  the  house  of  all  others  you  were  bound  to  keep 
away  from." 

"I  know  that." 

"I'm  glad  you  have  the  decency  to  admit  it,  sir!  I  con- 
aider  that  you've  behaved  infamously  badly.  I  suppose 
you  meant  to  try  and  work  on  Miss  Carminow's  pity?" 

"Even  so,  Sir  George." 

"I  wonder  you're  not  ashamed " 

"I  should  have  said  he  was  ashamed,"  said  Caron; 
"rather  obviously  so." 

Auburn's  lips  framed  "Mercy."  He  was  visibly  near  to 
sobbing.  Sir  George  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  turned 
away,  true  to  the  British  principle  that  one  cannot  hit  a  man 
when  he  is  down.  Roden 's  glance  for  Caron  was  one  of 
bitter  anger,  and  he  was  going  up  to  essay  a  word  of  en 
couragement  to  the  beaten  man  when  "Wynne  checked  him 
sharply.  "That's  enough,  sir,"  he  said.  "We  can't  stay 
here  all  night.  This  has  been  a  little  bit  of  a  surprise  all 
round,  but  all 'a  well  that  ends " 

The  words  were  cut  short  by  a  quick  movement  from 
Auburn,  who  had  forgotten  his  manacled  wrists.  "Oh! 
catch  her,  one  of  you!"  he  cried,  "the  child's  dying!" 

Jeannie  had  sunk  quietly  down  on  the  floor.  Sir  George 
and  Roden  lifted  her  between  them,  and  got  her  into  her 
room  just  as  Lesbia  came  up  the  stairs.  She  stood  on  the 
landing,  taking  in  every  detail  of  the  scene:  Dodo's  tragic 
quiet,  Auburn  handcuffed  between  the  officers,  Jeannie 
insensible  on  her  bed  with  the  blood  flowing  from  her 
mouth.  There  was  woe  enough  in  that  sight  to  turn  any 


AN    ORDEAL   OF    HONOR  299 

woman  to  stone,  and  like  stone  Lesbia  stood,  while  Caron 
ran  to  get  water  and  Roden  loosened  Jeannie's  clothes.  At 
length  Dodo  touched  Lesbia 's  arm.  "Jeannie's  dying,  I 
think,"  she  said. 

Lesbia 's  hands  went  up  to  her  head,  and  she  stood  press 
ing  them  against  either  temple,  but  still  she  did  not  speak. 

"Lucky  Jeannie,  don't  you  think?"  Dodo  added  with  the 
travesty  of  a  smile. 

Wynne  eyed  her  doubtfully.  "I  was  going  to  ask  you 
just  to  step  up  to  the  prison  with  me,  miss,  and  see  the 
Governor:  but  I  dare  say,  if  you  prefer  it,  he'd  wait  till — 
till " 

"Till  she's  dead?  Oh,  she  may  not  die  for  a  long  time, 
and  her  sister  will  be  with  her.  I  '11  come  with  you  if  you 
want  me,"  Dodo  answered.  She  stooped  to  wipe  the  lips 
of  the  sick  girl  and  pressed  her  own  to  them.  "Good-bye, 
old  Jeannie.  I'll  send  some  one  for  a  doctor,  Lesbia." 

So  in  the  dark  of  the  November  twilight  they  left  Heather 
Cottage:  Auburn  handcuffed  between  warders,  Sir  George 
with  Dodo's  hand  drawn  through  his  arm,  Roden  and 
Caron  together,  some  little  way  behind. 

"Events  have  gone  too  rapidly  for  me,"  said  Caron.  "I 
won't  ask  for  details:  but  tell  me  this,  at  all  events — was 
Auburn  much  to  blame  for  coming  here  ? ' ' 

"Rather:  but  he's  made  amends." 

"Gave  himself  up,  in  fact?" 

"Virtually." 

"His  story  will  need  some  patching." 

"They'll  suspect  Dodo :  but  I  think  they  can't  prove  any 
thing." 

* '  Heaven  be  praised !  We  don 't  want  a  scandal. ' '  Roden 
shrugged  his  shoulders.  "What's  the  matter  with  you?" 

"Are  you  blind?" 

"To  him?  No.  Running  plays  the  devil  with  a  man, 
doesn't  it?"  Roden  nodded.  "But,  after  all,  he's  no 
worse  off  than  he  was  before." 


800  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

"It  has  broken  him." 

Caron  winced  away  from  the  grim  words.  "He's  had 
bad  luck  all  through.  He'll  weather  this  as  he's  weathered 
the  rest." 

"I  wish  to  God  he  were  dead,"  said  Roden,  " — or  I 
were." 


XXX. 

IT  was  New  Year's  Eve,  and  the  snow  lay  thick  on  the 
ground:  a  night  of  frost,  so  placid  that  Dodo's  candle 
burned  steadily  beside  her  open  window.  Nearly  two 
months  had  gone  by  since  the  recapture  of  Auburn :  a  time 
as  dark  and  still  in  Dodo's  life  as  the  wintry  landscape 
itself. 

She  had  escaped  scot-free.  There  was  no  evidence  to 
prove  her  implicated,  and  for  Auburn 's  sake  she  took  care 
not  to  incriminate  herself.  Auburn  swore,  and  Wynne 
bore  him  out,  that  no  one  could  have  been  more  painfully 
surprised  than  Dodo  when  he  opened  Jeannie's  door.  Not 
another  syllable  could  be  wrung  from  him,  and  the  con 
clusion  to  which  Major  Topham  came  was  that  the  prisoner, 
known  to  be  a  rich  man,  had  contrived  to  bribe  a  warder. 
Not  that  the  Governor  was  satisfied,  for  there  were  various 
points,  and  notably  the  meeting  in  the  road,  that  struck  him 
as  suspicious:  but  Wynne  stood  up  for  Dodo's  innocence 
(thereby  heaping  coals  of  fire  on  Dodo's  head),  and  in  the 
lack  of  direct  proof  Major  Topham,  after  a  cross-examina 
tion  in  which  he  was  less  cool  than  the  suspect,  had  to  let 
her  go. 

Auburn  himself  was  punished,  but  not  severely.  He  had 
a  spell  of  solitary  confinement  on  bread  and  water,  lost  his 
remission  marks  and  his  fourth  year's  privileges,  and  was 
put  into  grotesque  parti-colored  clothes  which  made  him 
feel  like  a  clown  in  an  ugly  pantomime :  no  undue  penalty. 
That  he  was  transferred  to  Portland  early  in  December 
was  due  to  Major  Topham 's  fear  of  an  outbreak  upon 
Jimmy  Jones,  who  gloried  impenitently  in  what  he  had 

301 


302  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

done.  Both  Auburn  and  Dodo,  in  fact,  might  be  said  to 
have  got  off  cheaply.  None  the  less  it  seemed  to  both  that 
the  very  springs  of  life  were  broken.  Dodo's  lot  was  the 
unremitting  anguish  of  pity:  while  Auburn,  losing  in  the 
strong  gentleness  of  Hugh  Rose  his  last  link  with  the  outer 
world,  heard  night  by  night  in  the  dash  of  the  waves  on  the 
rocks  under  his  great  sea-prison  a  summons  to  despair.  At 
that  time  he  slept  as  little  as  he  could.  Better  far  to  lie 
awake  in  the  dark,  looking  death  in  the  face,  than  to  sleep, 
and  dream  of  open  waters,  and  hills  bare  to  the  wind,  and 
the  living  touch  of  Dodo's  arms  about  his  neck.  He  who 
does  not  sleep  does  not  wake. 

As  soon  as  she  was  allowed,  Dodo  left  Menval.  She 
parted  from  Lesbia  and  Jeannie  without  a  pang,  although 
Jeannie  was  so  ill  that  no  one  thought  she  would  live  the 
year  out.  Dodo's  one  strong  feeling  seemed  to  be  a  dis 
taste  for  Heather  Cottage.  Sir  George  insisted  on  taking 
her  home  with  him,  and  she  yielded,  as  she  would  have 
yielded  if  they  had  ordered  her  off  to  prison.  Roden  was 
glad,  for  the  air  teemed  with  scandal,  and  he  knew  that  her 
name  could  have  no  stauncher  and  no  abler  champion  than 
Sir  George,  although,  or  because,  he  had  heard  from 
Dodo's  lips  the  whole  truth.  The  plain,  honest  country 
gentleman  had  a  strain  of  chivalry  in  him,  which  it  was 
Dodo's  good  luck  to  set  on  fire,  and  by  its  light  he  attained 
to  a  clearer  perception  than  one  would  have  thought  pos 
sible  to  a  man  of  middle  age  and  fixed  standards.  He  gave 
her  credit  not  for  love  only  but  for  faith — "After  all,  if 
she  thinks  the  fellow  innocent!"  he  said,  and  shrugged  his 
shoulders.  He  saw,  as  Lesbia  had  seen,  that  that  was  for 
Dodo  the  crux  of  the  situation. 

Such  a  man  was  not  to  be  deterred  by  scandal.  "We  must 
make  the  women  take  her  up,"  he  said  to  Roden.  "Get  the 
poor  dear  child  to  come  back  with  me,  and  I'll  guarantee 
there  shall  be  no  scandal.  I  should  like  to  hear  anybody 
say  a  word  against  her  when  she's  under  Magdalen's 


AN   ORDEAL   OF   HONOR  SOS 

wing!"  Sir  George  as  he  said  this  looked  quite  unlike  the 
normal  Sir  George  who  rode  and  shot  and  harried  poachers 
all  the  year  round  at  Trevor  Hall.  He  was  a  man  of  weight 
in  the  county,  while  Lady  Trevor,  born  Magdalen  Sele,  was 
related  by  blood  to  half  the  northern  aristocracy,  so  that 
the  plan  was  a  sound  one.  ' '  Good, ' '  said  Dodo  when  it  was 
laid  before  her.  "I'll  go  and  be  whitewashed."  So  she 
went  back  to  the  grey  village  ringed  by  the  silence  of  the 
Plain,  to  the  tall  spired  church  under  whose  shadow  her 
father  lay  asleep :  to  the  gossip  of  the  market-place  and  the 
curious  sympathy  of  Mabel  Blandford,  and  Lady  Trevor's 
motherly  kindness,  and  the  strong  love  of  Grace.  She  had 
not  been  away  six  months  in  all. 

For  some  while  they  left  her  quiet  to  readjust  herself  to 
life:  but  Dodo  was  ever  a  fighter,  and  the  patient  accep 
tance  of  pain  was  no  part  of  her  plan.  From  the  death-like 
apathy  of  Menval,  through  a  time  of  isolation  and  the 
grinding  wheels  of  thought,  she  struggled  painfully  back 
to  the  living  world  again.  But  though  it  was  the  old  world 
it  was  not  the  old  Dodo. 

"Dodo,  father  wants  to  have  a  few  people  here  on  New 
Year 's  Eve.  Do  you  mind  ? ' ' 

"Why  should  I?" 

"Only,  if  we  do,  you'll  have  to  come  down  to  dinner." 

"Very  well,"  said  Dodo  after  a  short  silence:  "am  I  to 
do  Samson  and  the  Philistines?" 

"Don't  see  the  point — oh  yes,  I  do.  No,  you  shan't  make 
sport  for  them,  though  you  will  be  rather  coolly  received, 
I'm  afraid:  most  of  them  think  it  was  awfully  wicked  of 
you  and  awfully  mean  of  Charles.  But  you'll  have  to  face 
them  some  time  or  other,  so  can't  you  buck  up  and  do  it 
now?" 

"Dear,  old,  diplomatic  Gracie!"  said  Dodo,  half  smiling. 
"Very  well,  I'll  come  and  face  them  if  you  want  me  to." 

After  this  sort  was  Dodo  encouraged  to  return  to  society, 
and  now,  on  this  white  New  Year's  Eve,  she  was  steeling 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

herself  to  meet  the  ordeal  for  Auburn 's  sake,  and  still  more 
for  the  Trevors'.  Dodo  had  taken  pains  with  her  appear 
ance.  Her  plentitude  of  fair  hair  was  drawn  up  in  one 
silken  wave  from  the  nape  of  her  neck  to  a  coronet  of 
braids,  and  a  slender  wreath  of  white  lilae  was  twined  in  it 
like  a  ribbon.  Bound  her  throat  she  wore  a  collar  of  pearl 
and  emerald,  Auburn's  gift  at  Caesar's  Camp,  and  the  green 
fire  of  her  betrothal  ring  glowed  on  her  left  hand.  Her 
dress  had  cost  her  some  thought.  Black  she  had  considered 
and  rejected,  as  too  plainly  traditional:  yet  she  was  de 
barred  by  her  mourning  from  wearing  colors.  There  re 
mained  white:  and  in  white  accordingly  Dodo  had  clad 
herself,  like  a  girl  going  to  her  first  communion  or  a  young 
bride.  "White  may,  however,  be  either  childlike  or  mature, 
and  Dodo  had  chosen  the  latter  type  in  a  French  gown, 
filmy  and  clinging,  with  glittering  embroideries  and  long, 
pale,  extravagant  lilac-trails.  And  very  fair  she  looked,  and 
very  young!  The  years  had  heightened,  not  lessened, 
Dodo's  charm.  To  the  fine  slenderness  and  pale  bloom  of 
her  real  youth  they  had  added  the  qualities  proper  to  riper 
life  with  its  fullness  of  experience,  the  marks  of  character 
without  which  a  woman 's  beauty  is  but  a  lifeless  mask. 

There  is  a  touch  of  wizardry  in  all  mirrors.  As  Dodo 
stood  leaning  forward,  candle  in  hand,  to  peer  at  the  white 
vision  shining  out  of  the  dark  glass,  it  needed  no  strong 
imagination  to  conjure  up  the  eyes  of  her  lover  watching 
her  from  the  shadows.  But  this  imagination  was  so  strong 
that  Dodo  looked  back  over  her  shoulder,  and  could  hardly 
believe  that  he  was  not  in  the  room.  The  sense  of  his  bodily 
presence  was  as  vivid  as  if  the  very  breath  of  his  passion 
had  fanned  her  cheek. 

She  went  to  the  window  and  drew  back  the  curtain.  It 
was  a  cloudy  night,  but  not  dark:  there  was  a  crescent 
moon,  and  the  snow  lying  thick  and  pure  and  pale  over  lawn 
and  wood  shed  its  own  illumination  everywhere.  Far  off 
she  had  a  glimpse  of  a  dark,  triangular  slip  of  steel  which 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  805 

she  knew  to  be  the  lake :  beyond  that,  vague,  formless,  cloud- 
like  heights  where  the  snow  lay  only  in  crannies  rose  up  in 
a  long  curve  against  the  paler  obscurity  of  the  clouds. 
Reckless  of  her  bare  shoulders  Dodo  leaned  out  of  the  open 
window,  straining  her  eyes  towards  the  south.  Below  her 
was  the  porch  with  its  broad  steps,  and  the  long  dark  slope 
of  the  avenue  where  they  had  all  been  gathered  on  the 
evening  of  Auburn's  arrest.  Her  last  sight  of  him  had  been 
at  the  gate  of  the  prison,  when  he  was  led  off  to  his  cell :  he 
had  turned  and  looked  back  at  her  then,  once,  for  the  last 
time:  what  a  look!  She  never  could  think  of  his  eyes  at 
that  moment  without  the  phrase  of  the  old  seer  rising  in 
her  mind,  "They  shall  go  down  quick  into  the  pit."  But 
his  lips  moved,  and  his  last  words,  read  by  her  only,  were 
meant  to  comfort  her:  "Remember,  it  was  well  worth 
while. "  Not  so  had  those  ghostly  eyes  looked  at  her  from 
the  dark  mirror,  but  with  the  old  fire  of  passion,  the  old 
relentless,  merry  sense  of  power.  She  thought,  "What  can 
have  brought  him  back  to  me,  as  he  used  to  be,  in  the  old 
shape,  before  they  broke  him?  I  wonder  what  he  would 
think  of  me  if  he  were  here  in  the  flesh,"  and  a  vivid  pre 
sentiment  of  what  he  would  have  thought,  and  said,  and 
done,  lit  the  torch  in  her  eyes  and  made  her  blush. 

"Are  you  ready,  old  girl?  I  tapped  twice,  and  couldn't 
make  you  hear." 

Grace  was  standing  in  the  doorway,  uncertain,  apolo 
getic  :  Grace  tricked  out  in  pink  satin,  with  a  skirt  that  was 
rather  long  behind  and  rather  short  in  front.  Why  were 
Gracie's  evening  gowns  always  short  in  front?  "Are  you, 
ready?"  Dodo  retorted,  pointing  to  an  unpremeditated  pin. 
"I  hope  not." 

"Always  do  feel  an  idiot  in  evening  dress,"  Grace 
acknowledged  mournfully,  "but  that  can't  be  helped,  I'm 
used  to  it.  Besides,  you  can  do  pretty-pretty  for  both  of 
us.  Dear,  you  are  rather  transcendent  to-night — do  you 
know  ?  What  have  you  been  doing  to  yourself  ? ' ' 


806  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

"There's  my  rouge-pot,"  said  Dodo,  laying  her  hand  on 
the  Farquhar  portrait  of  Auburn,  which  stood,  framed,  on 
her  table.  "Do  you  believe  in  ghosts,  Gracie?  I  saw  him 
just  now." 

"Oh,  Dodo!" 

"Do  you  think  it  could  mean  that  he  is  dead?  It  was  a 
very  much  alive  ghost,"  said  Dodo,  smiling  queerly.  "He 
came  and  looked  over  my  shoulder  into  the  looking-glass : 
not  a  tragic,  beaten  Charles,  as  I  last  saw  him  at  Prince- 
town,  but  the  Charles  of  four  years  ago  with  his  trick  of 
doing  what  he  liked  first  and  apologizing  afterwards — or 
not  at  all." 

"Oh,  Dodo,  how  can  you?" 

"My  dear,  if  I  could  believe  he  was  dead,  I'd  sing  a 
Te  Deum.  Come,  we  must  go  down.  Has  any  one  arrived 
yet?" 

"Only  Bernard.  He  politely  told  me  that  if  he'd  known 
how  deep  the  snow  was  nothing  on  earth  would  have  in 
duced  him  to  stir." 

"Who  takes  me  in  to  dinner?" 

"Val  Attwood:  mother  and  I  thought  you'd  like  him, 
he  's  such  a  dear  fellow  and  so  easy  to  talk  to. ' ' 

"How  good  you  all  are  to  me!"  Dodo  said,  as  they  went 
down  the  stairs.  "Don't  think  me  ungrateful:  I  can't 
thank  you  now,  and  I  can't  play  up  to  you  decently,  but  I 
will  as  soon  as  I  can,  truly  I  will!  Meanwhile,  you  can't 
think  what  a  comfort  it  is  to  know  you'll  honor  all  my  over 
drafts  ! ' '  Grace 's  reply  was  to  throw  her  arm  round  Dodo 's 
neck  and  kiss  her  with  the  old  boyish  tenderness.  "It's  so 
nice  to  have  some  one  to  be  selfish  to." 

"I  don't  think  you're  selfish,  Dodo." 

Dodo  thought  of  Jeannie,  fighting  out  the  end  of  her  life 
under  the  grey  night  sky,  and  of  Lesbia  left  alone  in  her 
anguish  to  watch  the  parting  soul.  "Never  mind,"  she 
said.  "  I  '11  now  be  sensible,  for  a  change. ' ' 

She  followed  Grace  into  the  big  drawing-room,  lit  by  a 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  307 

blaze  of  electric  light,  which  had  only  recently  been  laid 
on,  and  possessed  all  the  charm  of  a  new  toy  for  Sir  George. 
Mild  Lady  Trevor,  elegant  and  simple  in  her  flowing  grey 
silk,  was  lamenting  this  infatuation  in  under-tones  to  Lady 
Richarda  Harewood,  for  the  other  guests  had  arrived  during 
Grace's  absence,  and  it  was  close  on  seven.  Sir  George,  on 
the  hearth-rug,  held  in  talk  two  or  three  of  the  men.  It 
was  but  a  small  and  informal  gathering :  Mabel  Blandf ord 
and  her  father  (Eric  was  pre-engaged),  Louisine  and  Val 
Attwood,  Mr.  Saltau  of  the  Manor  and  his  pretty  French 
bride,  and  Bernard  Carminow,  who  had  walked  up  from 
the  Chantry  Farm  and  was  more  than  usually  out  of  tem 
per  as  a  result:  these,  with  Roden  and  Caron,  who  were 
staying  in  the  house,  completed  the  tale,  and  all  had  known 
one  another  too  long  to  be  at  a  loss  for  conversation.  Dodo 
alone,  by  virtue  of  her  six  months'  absence  and  all  that  had 
happened  in  it,  ranked  as  a  novelty :  and  there  was  a  very 
slight  but  significant  movement  in  the  room  as  she  came  in. 
Many  of  those  present  looked  up,  involuntarily  or  furtively. 
Lady  Trevor  swam  across  the  room  and  took  her  hand.  ' '  I 
think  you  know  every  one,  dear,  except  Mrs.  Saltau,  don't 
you?"  she  exclaimed.  Dodo  was  led  towards  Mrs.  Saltau, 
a  French  Royalist  in  Dresden  china,  but  had  to  linger  to 
shake  hands  with  Lady  Ricky,  and  meanwhile  Mrs.  Saltau 
jumped  up  and  came  to  meet  her,  and  with  a  quaint,  caress 
ing  sincerity  caught  and  held  Dodo's  fingers  for  a  moment. 
"Oh!"  she  said,  "how  charming  of  you  to  be  last!  My 
husband  and  I  feared  never  to  arrive,  the  carriage  came  so 
slow,  so  slow!  once  it  was  up  to  the  ankles  in  snow " 

"If  Lady  Trevor  will  introduce  me  to  Miss  Carminow," 
this  was  Mr.  Saltau 's  pleasant,  clear  voice  as  he  strolled 
forward  from  the  fireside  group,  ' '  I  shall  have  pleasure  in 
explaining  that  when  my  wife  says  ankles  it  is  axles  she 
has  in  her  mind " 

Certainly  it  was  no  hard  ordeal,  this  return  to  society 
under  Lady  Trevor's  motherly  wing.  In  a  few  minutes  they 


308  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

went  in  to  dinner,  and  Dodo  found  herself  seated  between 
Val  Attwood  and  Mr.  Saltau,  while  Roden  and  Louisine 
faced  them  across  the  table,  which  was  decorated  with  a  low 
tracery  of  pale  blooms  and  dark  leaves,  so  that  conversation 
could  be  carried  on  freely  over  it.  And  the  talk  ran  with 
an  easy  flow.  Lady  Richarda  was  telling  scandalous 
legends  to  Sir  George,  who  lent  an  obliging  ear  and  an  eye 
that  had  a  twinkle  in  it.  Louisine  and  Roden,  whose  rapid 
intimacy  on  the  night  of  the  Blandfords'  dance  four  years 
before  had  run  in  Grace  Trevor's  mind  when  she  was 
drafting  her  couples,  were  profiting  by  her  generosity  to 
renew  their  old  flirtation.  Mabel  Blandford  was  happy 
with  Caron,  better  worth  her  notice  since  he  had  blossomed 
into  celebrity,  and  Caron  was  no  less  happy  to  listen  to  the 
lady's  views  on  the  Academy,  which  struck  him  as  idiotic 
enough  to  be  funny.  Handsome  Val  Attwood,  of  whom 
Roden  had  once  said  that  it  was  hard  to  understand  how  a 
man  could  be  so  very  well  bred  and  not  a  fool,  talked  with 
his  inimitable  lightness  of  Roden 's  Indian  career  and  his 
own  doings  in  town,  and  never  for  one  moment  let  it  be  seen 
that  he  was  aware  of  the  need  of  discretion.  It  was  all  so 
natural  and  so  easy  that  the  youth  in  Dodo  would  have  been 
content  to  drift  with  the  current,  but  she  could  not:  the 
isolation  of  a  great  sorrow  was  still  on  her,  and  its  curse  of 
clear  vision.  She  was  no  coward:  indeed,  as  Roden  re 
marked  to  Grace,  "Our  Dodo  can  usually  face  the  music." 
She  chatted  easily  to  Val,  and  laughed  over  his  sketch  of  an 
early  Territorial  field-day.  But  she  listened  to  her  own 
laughter  with  a  strange  sense  of  duality,  which  Val,  whose 
own  Army  career  had  been  cut  short  by  a  shameful  scandal 
imperfectly  hushed  up,  alone  of  the  company  could  have 
explained  to  her.  Of  such  irretrievable  wounds  a  few  die, 
many  are  healed :  others,  of  a  harder  courage,  merely  grow 
familiar  with  pain. 

"Yes,  the  Ardennes  for  me,"  Amyas  Saltau  said  in  his 
soft  voice,  tinged  with  a  Devonshire  accent  and  marked  by 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  309 

a  quaint,  slight  stammer.  "They're  a  s-sweet  spot.  All 
fir-trees,  you  know,  and  rivers  with  stepping-stones,  and 
porters  who  don't  expect  to  be  tipped,  and  that  sort  of 
thing." 

"Idyllic,"  Dodo  nodded.  "But  I'd  really  rather  go  to 
Paris." 

"See  Paris,  see  the  world,"  said  Val:  "it  is  the  world,  in 
miniature." 

"Paris  is  fascinating  and  wicked:  at  least  so  I've  always 
been  told,"  said  Dodo.  "Don't  shake  my  illusions,  please, 
I  want  to  keep  them. ' ' 

"Then  she'd  better  not  go,  had  she?"  Grace  chimed  in 
across  the  table.  "It's  the  only  way  to  keep  one's  illusions, 
my  dear. ' ' 

"I  don't  agree  with  you,"  dissented  Amyas  Saltau. 
"When  you  are  a  few  years  younger,  Grace,  you  won't  be 
such  a  pessimist." 

"I  don't  see  any  sense  in  that,"  said  Grace,  disgusted: 
' '  do  you,  Bernard  ? ' ' 

"Not  much,"  said  Bernard. 

Dodo  plunged  hurriedly  into  the  slight,  surprised  pause 
that  followed — as  it  so  often  used  to  follow — Bernard's 
reply.  "I  don't  care  for  illusions  that  have  to  be  kept  in 
cotton-wool,  do  you,  Mr.  Attwood  ? ' ' 

"He  hasn't  had  any  since  the  Liberals  came  in,"  Mr. 
Saltau  began  to  explain,  but  his  attention  was  reclaimed 
at  this  point  by  Lady  Ricky,  who  had  been  trying  to  preach 
Free  Trade  to  Mr.  Blandford,  and  was  infuriated  by  his 
affability  to  the  fair  sex.  Val  went  on,  "It  really  does  save 
trouble  to  resign  oneself  to  facts.  As  long  as  I  hoped  we 
weren't  going  to  the  dogs,  I  was  harassed  by  anxiety:  now 
that  I  know  we  are,  I  am  agreeably  calm,  and  able  to  reflect 
that  after  all  we  shall  take  ages  getting  there." 

"Isn't  that  rather  a  cowardly  doctrine?"  said  Dodo. 

"Possibly,"  said  Val,  helping  himself  to  olives.  "It's 
mine. ' ' 


810  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

Sir  George  leaned  forward  to  ask  Lady  Richarda  whether 
a  date  was  yet  fixed  for  the  hunt  ball,  a  topic  in  which  most 
of  the  table  joined  except  Louisine  and  Roden,  who  were 
deep  in  reminiscence.  "I  remember  your  sister  so  well," 
Louisine  was  saying  in  her  low,  effective  drawl,  ' l  the  night 
of  the  Blandfords'  dance.  She  was  looking  so  awfully 
pretty  that  evening. ' ' 

"So  were< — I  mean,"  said  Roden,  "you  were  dressed  in 
yellow." 

"Civilized  people  call  it  amber,"  said  Louisine,  un 
moved.  "It  wasn't  a  bad  dance.  You  behaved  awf'ly 
badly." 

"Yes,  didn't  we?"  said  Roden.  "Do  you  remember  the 
Moorish  Inglenook  in  the  Mauve  Saloon  ? ' ' 

"Ridiculous!"  murmured  Louisine.  She  left  the  appli 
cation  vague.  "Your  sister  had  a  good  time  too,  didn't 
she?" 

Roden 's  brows  drew  together.  "Oh,  quite.  You  mean 
her  engagement?" 

"Of  course  I  do.  Only  I  hadn't  the  cheek  to  say  it," 
candidly  acknowledged  Louisine.  "So  I  thought  I'd  hint 
at  it  instead,  which  is  really  much  more  vulgar.  I  admire 
her  type,  you  know,  immensely:  it's  so  uncommon.  I  can't 
think  how  she  could  do  it." 

"Do  what?" 

"Dig  a  subterranean  passage,  or  whatever  it  was  she  did 
do.  Oh,  wasn't  it  that?  Some  one  told  me  it  was — I'm  so 
sorry.  But  it  was  awf  'ly  noble  of  her,  I  'm  sure,  whatever 

it  was.  She's — isn't  she ?"  Louisine  hesitated,  a  rare 

thing  with  her,  for  she  had  been  brought  up  to  negotiate  the 
stiffest  of  conversational  fences  without  faltering:  but  the 
light,  keen,  mocking  eyes  confused  her. 

"She  is,"  said  Roden. 

"Is  what?" 

"Engaged  to  him  still." 

The  unready  color  sprang  to  Louisine 's  brown  cheek: 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  311 

her  hand  fell  for  a  moment  on  Roden's  arm.  "Oh,  I  am 
sorry!"  she  said.  "Captain  Carminow,  will  you  believe 
that  it  wasn't  altogether  impertinent  curiosity — what  I 
said?" 

"What  was  it  then?"  asked  Roden. 

"I  aw  sorry." 

"For  her?" 

"And  for  you.    You're  very  much  changed." 

"Am  I?  You're  the  first  person  that  has  told  me  so," 
said  Roden.  He  leaned  hack  in  his  chair,  looking  so 
desperately  weary,  so  far  out  of  harmony  with  the  situ 
ation,  that  Louisine  's  social  instinct  woke  up  and  she  dashed 
into  a  lively  monologue  to  cover  his  deficiencies. 

"You  don't  think  people  look  dull,  do  you?"  Grace 
asked  confidentially  of  Bernard  Carminow.  "I'm  not  a 
bit  of  good  at  keeping  things  going,  I  do  wish  I  were." 

"Dodo's  happy  anyhow,"  said  Bernard  sardonically. 
"Look  at  his  expression!  I  fancy  she  could  have  him  any 
day  if  she  chose  to  drop  the  handkerchief.  He's  just  the 
sort  of  sentimental  rotter  to  like  her  all  the  better  for 
having  made  a  fool  of  herself  for  another  man." 

"As  if  she'd  have  him!" 

"More  fool  she.  We  might  have  a  double  wedding," 
Bernard  grinned,  inclining  his  head  very  slightly  towards 
Roden  and  Louisine.  "That  would  prosper  with  a  little 
encouragement — what  ? ' ' 

"I  don't  think  so.  I  don't  know  if  he's  in  earnest:  she 
can  hardly  be.  She'll  never  marry  a  poor  man." 

"Ah!  you  don't  like  that  notion." 

"That's  hateful  of  you,  Bernard." 

"Dare  say:  I  don't  care  if  it  is.  It's  enough  to  make 
any  man  savage  to  see  a  woman  he  likes  chucking  herself 
away  over  a  chap  who  hasn't  got  the  sense  to  thank  her 
for  it." 

The  fierce  pain  that  underlay  Bernard's  low,  impatient 
tones  consoled  Grace  to  some  extent  for  their  remarkable 


313  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

impropriety.  "Well,  you  needn't  talk  about  it  now,  any 
how,"  she  pointed  out.  "Isn't  Roden  well  to-night?  He 
looks  awfully  seedy. ' ' 

"There's  nothing  wrong  with  him." 

"Oh,  nothing — except  that  he's  getting  as  thin  as  a  hop- 
pole!  He's  never  really  been  himself  since " 

"Since  what?" 

"Don't  be  aggravating!  you  know  what  I  mean." 

"Good  gracious,  yes!"  said  Bernard,  leaning  back  in  his 
chair.  "We  all  know,  don't  we?  It's  quite  an  Auburn 
dinner,  in  fact — though  I'll  go  bail  I'm  the  first  that's  said 
his  name.  Well,  Grace,  I  'm  not  given  to  humbug !  and  all 
I  can  say  is,  I  wish  the  fellow  would  cut  his  throat,  or  catch 
typhoid " 

"Eh?  ?  What's  that?"  Sir  George  bent  his  brows  im 
patiently.  "Some  one  to  see  me?  Rubbish,  Thompson! 
how  can  I  see  anybody  to-night  ? ' ' 

Thompson,  the  discreet  butler,  whispered  into  Sir 
George's  ear. 

"Well,  tell  her  to  wait,  then.  I  won't  see  her  now,  and 
that's  the  long  and  short  of  it." 

Thompson  withdrew  dissatisfied,  and  Sir  George  turned 
with  an  apology  to  Mrs.  Saltau. 

"Says  her  name's  Burnet,  and  she  must  speak  to  me  on 
the  spot.  Extraordinarily  unreasonable  these  women  are, 
to  be  sure — they  always  come  in  the  middle  of  my  dinner !" 

"Alas,  poor  women!"  said  Mrs.  Saltau,  with  her  quaint 
French  shrug  and  movement  of  the  hands.  "And  you  who 
are  an  Englishman!" 

"No,  no,"  Sir  George  protested,  "that's  too  bad!  Eh, 
what  is  it  now?" 

"If  you  please,  Sir  George,"  Thompson's  harassed 
whisper  was  rather  louder  and  less  confidential  in  his  dis 
tress,  and  several  at  that  end  of  the  table  looked  up  in 
amusement,  "we  don't  know  what  to  do " 

"Which  of  you  here  is  Sir  George  Trevor?" 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  313 

Dodo  got  to  her  feet,  and  Val  Attwood  sprang  up  to 
catch  her  if  she  fell.  Roden  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  color 
less,  lifeless  but  for  his  eyes.  It  was  Lesbia. 

She  pushed  past  the  servants:  no  one  dared  to  stop  her. 
She  was  in  black,  and  had  nothing  over  her  shoulders  but  a 
black  shawl :  the  snow  lay  thick  on  it,  and  in  the  folds  of 
her  dress.  She  stood  with  folded  arms,  composed,  powerful, 
bearing  the  brunt  of  all  those  eyes  that  tried  to  read  her 
pale  face,  and  could  not. 

"I  came  for  justice,  gentlemen  and  ladies,  and  that's  a 
thing  that  ought  not  to  be  kept  waiting.  It  has  waited  al 
ready  four  years  and  more,  but  now  the  time  has  come 
when  I  can  speak  out.  Which  of  you  is  Sir  George?" 

"I  am." 

"And  you're  a  magistrate?" 

"Certainly." 

"Then  I  give  myself  into  your  hands,  sir,  for  the  murder 
of  the  late  Sir  Charles  Auburn." 

"Good  heavens!  the  woman  must  be  out  of  her  mind." 

"I  am  not.  I  have  been  nearly,  though:  waiting,  wait 
ing  in  the  dawn  for  the  spirit  to  pass.  Listen,  then — for 
I  see  some  here  that  long  for  truth  as  dying  men  long  for 
water.  It  was  me  that  killed  him.  I  held  my  tongue  as 
long  as  my  sister  Jean  lived,  but  she  died  this  morning,  and 
now  I  can  tell  my  tale." 

No  one  had  any  idea  of  interrupting  her,  and  after  a 
short  pause  Lesbia  went  on : 

"Long  years  ago,  before  I  had  cried  all  the  beauty  out 
of  this  face  of  mine,  I  was  a  good-looking  girl.  I  was  maid 
to  Lady  Auburn  then,  and  Sir  Charles  took  a  fancy  to  me. 
He  used  to  come  sneaking  up  when  her  back  was  turned  to 
make  love  to  me.  I  cared  for  that  just  as  much  as  you'd 
mind  a  fly  on  your  face.  He  never  dared  meddle  with  me. 

"When  she  died,  she -left  her  babe  to  me  to  take  care  of. 
I  lived  on  at  Auburn  till  he  grew  to  be  a  man,  and  then  I 
left  it,  and  settled  in  a  cottage  pretty  close.  It  was  my 


314  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

father's,  and  his  father's  before  him,  and  I  loved  it:  and 
little  I  thought  of  the  bane  in  the  race,  the  black  stock 
growing  hard  by.  There  my  half-sister  Jeannie  came  to 
me :  and  there  she  grew  up  a  bonnier  girl  than  I  had  ever 
been. 

"She  was  too  bonny.  Sir  Charles  cast  his  eye  on  her.  I 
did  not  know  it,  I  did  not  fear  it,  and  God  never  said  a 
word.  Well,  He  knows  His  own  business  best,  we  must 
suppose.  It  was  a  lonely  place,  out  of  earshot  of  neighbor 
ing  cottages.  I'm  sorry  to  trouble  ladies'  ears  with  such  a 
tale,  but  such  things  do  get  done  in  the  world,  and  if  God 
can  bear  with  them  so  can  we,  I  think.  .  .  .  One  day,  when 
I  came  home  .  .  . 

"My  Jeannie  was  a  flower  as  spotless  as  the  lily,  and  like 
a  lily  when  you  set  your  foot  on  it  she  never  lifted  up  her 
head  again  but  just  faded  and  faded  away.  She  was  never 
strong:  and  by  and  by  she  sickened  and  took  to  her  bed. 
Consumption,  they  called  it :  and  so  it  was,  but  the  mind 
was  consumed  before  the  body.  I  wanted  no  vengeance 
yet:  I  could  leave  that  to  God.  Eternity  is  a  blessed 
thought,  and  I  knew  there  was  a  bright  blazing  mansion 
getting  ready  for  that  man  in  the  kingdom  of  his  father. 
And  I  was  not  going  to  bring  down  my  bonny  Jean's  pride 
and  lay  it  in  the  dust  for  fools  to  make  a  mock  of  it. 

"But  one  night,  when  she  was  very  ill  and  I  sitting  beside 
her  and  listening  to  her  pitiful  talk,  there  came  over  me  a 
feeling  that  I  had  to  speak  to  him.  It  was  the  fifteenth  of 
July,  nineteen  three.  When  she  dropped  asleep  I  stole  out, 
and  went  up  the  avenue,  walking  on  the  grass  that  no  one 
might  see  my  steps.  I  knew  where  he  'd  be.  I  came  in  by 
the  open  window  and  found  him  sitting  over  his  wine.  It 
was  not  much  I  said,  but  it  was  well  chosen.  He  got  up : 
but  he  was  too  drunk  to  be  angry.  What  was  next  ?  Why, 
this  mad  brute,  that  had  trampled  out  my  Jean's  life — this 
dirty  dog  was  on  his  drunken  legs  trying  to  kiss  me !  Said 
he  thought  I  was  'quite  handsome  in  my  temper.' 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  315 

"There  was  a  cane  lying  on  the  table,  I  never  saw 
whose.  I  struck  him  with  it — only  once.  I  doubt  I  never 
beat  carpets  so  hard  as  I  beat  that  man  over  his  drunken 
face.  He  fell  right  on  the  ground  at  my  feet :  then  I  knew 
what  Jael  felt  like. 

' '  I  turned  him  over,  and  made  sure  he  was  dead.  I  went 
out  by  the  open  window  and  stole  back  home.  But,  as  I 
was  going  in  by  the  garden  gate,  a  young  gentleman 
stepped  up  to  me  and  asked  me  had  I  seen  young  Mr. 
Auburn  up  at  the  house.  That  was  the  first  news  I  had 
that  he  was  about.  I  said  no:  and  then  seeing  he  was  a 
gentleman,  and  looking  forward  to  what  was  to  come,  I 
asked  him  would  he  promise  not  to  say  he  had  seen  me  out 
of  my  door  that  night,  for,  I  said,  'a  woman's  good  name 
hangs  on  it.'  He  gave  the  promise,  and  kept  it  loyally, 
from  which  I  now  release  him,  that  he  may  witness  to  my 
truth.  There  he  sits."  She  pointed  to  Roden. 

"You  knew  this,  and  did  not  tell?" 

Roden  raised  his  clear  eyes  to  Dodo's  face.  "I  had 
promised." 

"Well,  now,  you  can  finish  for  yourself,"  said  Lesbia. 
' '  I  did  what  I  thought  was  best  for  my  boy.  I  fancied  no 
one  knew  he  was  down,  and  so  I  made  an  excuse  to  pack 
him  off  by  a  back  way.  It  was  as  a  snare  to  his  feet.  All 
that  I  did  to  help  him  has  been  to  drag  him  down.  I  saw 
him  taken  to  prison,  I  heard  the  death-sentence  read  over 
him :  the  babe  that  had  lain  on  my  breast,  the  boy  I  loved 
better,  far  better  than  my  own  life ;  better  than  Jeannie  's 
self,  I  sometimes  think.  But  I  held  my  tongue.  The  sins 
of  the  fathers  shall  be  visited  upon  the  children.  My  Jean 
was  innocent,  and  wronged  to  death :  and  it  was  his  father 
did  it,  I  would  have  seen  him  hanged,  but  I  never  would 
have  spoken.  But  if  they  had  hanged  him,  when  Jeannie 
died  I  would  have  spoken  just  the  same. ' ' 

She  ended  as  composedly  as  she  had  begun,  and  stood 
waiting,  wrapped  in  her  shawl,  from  which  the  snow  had 


316  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

all  melted,  and  was  running  down  on  the  floor.  Dodo  was 
still  on  her  feet.  Roden  rose  and  faced  her,  white  as  a 
dying  man,  but  unshaken. 

"I  was  sure  I  could  have  saved  him  if  I  had  spoken." 

"Let  me  alone." 

Roden  bowed  slightly  (an  odd  thing  to  do  to  one's  sister, 
Grace  thought),  and  said  no  more.  Grace  glanced  round 
the  disordered  table,  but  of  what  every  one  was  saying  or 
doing  she  got  only  a  fitful  and  clouded  view.  A  moment 
later  Sir  George  stood  up. 

' '  I  am  sure, ' '  he  said  in  his  low,  well-bred  voice,  with  the 
touch  of  dignity  that  always  made  Grace  feel  proud  of  him, 
"you  all  know  us  too  well  to  think  us  inhospitable  if  we 
ask  you  to  excuse  us  to-night.  After  what  has  passed,  it 
would  be  a  poor  sort  of  evening  that  we  could  invite  you  to 
share." 

There  followed  confusion  and  a  murmur  of  farewells 
and  much  hunting  of  cloaks  and  summoning  of  carriages. 
In  the  middle  of  it  all  Grace  found  Roden  standing  by  her, 
with  a  glass  of  wine  in  his  hand.  "I  wish  you  would  make 
the  child  drink  this." 

"Thank  you,  Roddy,"  Grace  answered,  "you  think  of 
everything." 

She  carried  the  wine  to  Dodo,  who  had  thrown  a  window 
open  and  was  looking  far  out  into  the  night. 

"Drink  it  up,  darling,  it  will  do  you  good." 

Dodo  put  the  glass  from  her.  "No:  it's  Roden 's.  I  saw 
him  pour  it  out." 

Grace  had  to  wait  a  moment  to  control  her  indignation. 
"I  think  you  are  mad,  Dodo.  What  Roden  saw  proved 
nothing  at  all." 

"Not  enough  to  hang  Lesbia:  but  ample  to  have  saved 
Charles." 

"I  don't  believe  it.  If  it  was  so,  Roden  could  not  break 
his  promise." 

"No,  he  wanted  to  save  his  soul." 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  3lT 

"As  if  Eoden  cared  about  his  soul!"  said  Grace  scorn 
fully.  "You're  very  unjust,  Dodo." 

"Am  I?"  said  Dodo.  "Let  me  alone,  Grace."  She 
turned  on  Grace  with  her  wide  level  eyes,  so  like  Roden's 
in  their  passionless  brilliancy.  "You  don't  know  Roden, 
and  I  never  did  till  now.  He  is  the  eternal  fanatic,  the  type 
that  kills  men  in  the  name  of  God.  He  has  broken  Charles' 
life  as  you  break  a  piece  of  stick :  and  he  is  my  brother,  and 
he  loves  me." 


XXXI. 

UNDER  an  icy  blue  January  sky,  Portland,  the  great 
stone  fortress,  rose  up  foursquare  on  its  stone  fore 
land.  Eock  and  prison  were  united  into  one  vast  mass  by 
the  thick  pure  mantle  of  the  snow.  Every  crocket,  every 
beading,  every  sheltered  sill  stood  out  black  as  jet  against 
the  dazzling  mask.  The  sea  roared  against  the  foot  of  the 
prison,  the  wind  raved  round  it,  and  the  air  was  rife  with 
stinging  flakes  of  salt.  The  prisoners  shivered  in  their 
cramped  cubicles  of  corrugated  iron — seven  feet  high,  seven 
long,  and  four  feet  wide — and  were  at  pains  not  to  set  their 
bare  feet  on  the  naked  slate  floor.  At  night  Auburn  lay 
awake,  too  cold  to  sleep,  and  heard  his  neighbors  all  around 
him  grumbling  and  swearing  in  their  ill-swung  hammocks. 
It  was  a  frozen  Inferno.  Many  years  after,  the  chill  of  an 
east  wind  by  a  winter  seashore  used  to  bring  back  to  him 
those  nights  in  the  iron  cells  of  Portland. 

It  was  eight  in  the  morning,  and  the  sun  was  rising  red 
out  of  a  bank  of  fog.  Auburn  had  eaten  his  porridge  and 
rolled  up  his  hammock  and  blankets,  and  sat  idle  on  his 
stool,  waiting  to  be  let  out.  His  mates  had  all  gone  to 
chapel  half  an  hour  ago  and  were  now  at  work.  Why  he 
alone  should  have  been  left  in  his  cell  he  neither  knew  nor 
cared.  Inaction  made  him  deadly  cold,  however,  and  he 
was  not  sorry  when  at  length  a  warder  walked  in  and  told 
him,  in  the  curt  Portland  manner,  that  he  was  to  come  at 
once  to  see  the  Governor. 

Almost  too  stiff  to  walk,  Auburn  followed  his  guide  down 
the  long  flagged  corridors,  through  doors  that  unlocked  and 
relocked  behind  him,  into  homelier  regions  of  carpeted 

318 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  319 

staircase  and  papered  wall:  he  had  forgotten  the  look  of 
such  things.  His  months  at  Portland  seemed  longer  than 
the  years  at  Princetown.  A  great  gap  intervened  between 
life  in  the  sea-prison  and  life  before  his  escape. 

At  length  he  was  brought  into  the  Governor 's  room,  large 
and  comfortably  furnished,  and  brightened  by  a  fire  burn 
ing  in  the  open  grate,  the  warmth  of  which  was  reviving. 
The  Governor  himself  sat  in  a  high  chair  before  a  big  table. 
He  looked  up  as  Auburn  came  in,  and  the  prisoner  was 
surprised  by  the  expression  of  Major  White's  rather  nar 
row,  well-cut  face.  The  stern  and  cool  official  had  developed 
inexplicably  into  a  human  being  whose  eyes  conveyed  in 
terest  and  sympathy — one  might  almost  say,  respect. 
Auburn,  keenly  on  the  defensive,  and  conscious  of  the 
presence  of  the  deputy-governor  and  of  one  or  two  minor 
officials  who  eyed  him  with  more  of  curiosity  and  less  of 
good-breeding,  waited  in  the  prisoner's  patience,  collecting 
his  manhood  to  face  the  unknown  ordeal. 

"Will  you  sit  down,  Sir  Charles?" 

Such  a  form  of  address  was  so  unfamiliar  and  so  unlikely 
that  Auburn  thought  it  could  not  be  meant  for  him.  But 
one  of  the  bystanders,  in  whom  he  recognized  the  prison 
doctor,  a  kind  though  coarse-natured  man  of  the  name  of 
Walker,  pushed  forward  a  chair  near  the  fire,  and  taking 
Auburn  by  the  arm  put  him  into  it.  Auburn  sat  down,  but 
he  was  horribly  embarrassed.  In  prison  routine  he  had  got 
used  to  the  parti-colored  clothes,  one  leg  and  one  arm  brown 
and  one  mustard-yellow,  and  he  could  work,  or  march,  or 
stand  up  at  ease  in  them :  but  to  sit  down  in  a  civilized  room 
and  before  gentlemen  in  this  harlequin  dress  made  him 
wretchedly  conscious  of  his  degradation.  Nor  did  it  please 
him  to  intercept  the  silent  question  and  answer  that  flashed 
over  him  between  Major  White  and  Captain  Fanning  and 
the  blue-eyed,  red-bearded  Ezra  Walker. 

"I've  sent  for  you  this  morning,  Sir  Charles,"  began 
Major  White  slowly,  "to  break  a  piece  of  news  to  you." 


320  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Auburn. 

"You  need  not  call  me  sir." 

Auburn  raised  his  eyesbrows  and  simply  said  nothing. 

"You  don't  ask  what  my  news  is,"  said  White.  He  had 
picked  up  an  ivory  paper-knife  and  was  bending  it  about  in 
his  fingers,  unmistakably  nervous,  the  autocrat  of  fifty! 
"You're  not  very  inquisitive,  are  you?" 

"No,"  said  Auburn  dryly. 

"I  may  tell  you  that  it  is  good  news." 

Auburn  replied  by  a  shrug. 

"So  good  that  I'm  afraid  to  tell  you  without  a  cer 
tain  amount  of  preparation.  Try  to  make  up  your  mind 
to  hear  something  very  surprising  and,  I  hope,  very 
agreeable. ' ' 

And  still  no  inkling  of  the  truth  dawned  on  Auburn. 
White's  face  was  grave  and  dark  as  he  turned  to  his  second 
in  command.  "What's  one  to  say  to  the  fellow?" 

' '  Oh,  let  him  have  it, ' '  said  Fanning  curtly.  Then  Major 
White  laid  down  his  paper-knife. 

"The  news  I  have  for  you  is  the  only  news  you  would 
probably  be  able  to  call  good.  Circumstances  have  come  to 
light  which  prove  that  you  have  been  the  victim  of  a 
wretched  miscarriage  of  justice.  You  have  received  the 
formality  of  a  free  pardon,  and  you're  at  liberty  to  walk 
out  of  my  gates  as  soon  as — How  about  a  glass  of  brandy, 
Walker?" 

' '  He  '11  be  all  right  in  ten  seconds, ' '  said  Walker  gruffly. 
Auburn  had  risen  and  caught  at  Fanning 's  arm  to  steady 
himself :  his  hand  went  up  to  the  throat  of  his  jacket. 

"I'm  all  right,"  he  said:  and  reeled,  and  would  have 
gone  down  on  the  floor  if  Fanning  had  been  less  quick  or 
strong.  He  did  not  faint  outright,  but  he  could  not  stand, 
and  for  some  minutes  the  room  was  quite  dark,  and 
Walker's  irritable,  "Air — give  him  air,"  and  Fanning 's 
heretical, ' '  Oh,  hang  the  system ! ' '  came  to  him  from  a  long 
way  off.  When  he  came  to  himself  he  was  lying  on  the  sofa, 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  321 

his  head  supported  on  Fanning 's  arm.  Auburn  sat  up  and 
swung  his  feet  to  the  ground. 

"What  a  fool  I  am!  I'm  all  right  now,  thanks  very 
much.  What's  it  all  about?  I  don't  understand." 

1  'No  need,"  said  Fanning  curtly.  "You  had  better  go 
into  the  next  room  and  change  your  clothes. ' ' 

Auburn  got  up,  but  he  was  still  so  dazed  that  Fanning 
had  to  grasp  his  arm.  What  followed  was  never  very  clear 
to  Auburn's  mind.  He  was  dimly  aware  of  being  taken 
into  another  room  and  helped — himself  well-nigh  helpless — 
into  new  clothes  that  sat  very  loose  upon  him,  and  yet  felt, 
after  the  shapeless  convict  garb,  close  and  constrained: 
afterwards  came  some  signing  and  reading  of  papers.  His 
next  clear  memory  was  that  of  shaking  hands  with  Fan 
ning  and  White,  who  expressed  the  traditional  valedictory 
wish  that  he  might  never  see  him  again. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Auburn  mechanically.  "Where  am 
I  to  go? — I  mean,"  he  corrected  himself  quickly,  "is  no  one 
here  to  meet  he  ? " 

"Only  I." 

It  was  Roland,  who  had  been  ushered  up  in  time  to  catch 
the  last  words.  He  held  out  both  hands,  and  Auburn  took 
them.  For  a  moment  they  stood  silent,  looking  into  each 
other's  faces:  with  anguish  of  regret  on  the  one  side,  with 
unshaken  fidelity  on  the  other. 

"I  never  believed  you." 

"Never  mind.  What's  the  odds?" 

' '  I  knew  you  would  forgive  me,  Auburn. ' ' 

"All  right,  don't  bother." 

This  was  all  that  ever  passed  between  them  on  the  point. 
Auburn  soon  forgot  that  he  had  ever  had  anything  to  for 
give:  but  Roland  Carew  walked  the  more  humbly  all  his 
days  because  he  had  failed  his  friend  in  need.  It  was  no 
time  to  think  of  that  now,  however.  Auburn  had  shaken 
off  his  faintness  and  was  himself  again :  very  white,  very 
languid,  but  cool  and  steady.  They  went  down  together 


322  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

into  the  courtyard,  where  a  number  of  warders  pressed 
forward  to  shake  hands  with  Auburn  and  wish  him  good 
luck,  for  there  are  kindly  hearts  in  as  well  as  out  of  a  con 
vict  prison,  and  they  were  all  sorry  for  the  innocent  man. 
At  the  gate  a  big  motor-car  was  waiting,  its  steelwork  flash 
ing  in  the  sun.  Little  more  was  said  till  Auburn  and 
Roland  were  in  it  side  by  side,  and  the  great  car  began  to 
move,  slowly  at  first,  but  rapidly  gathering  speed,  along 
the  flat  road  that  connected  Portland  Prison  with  the  main 
land.  Even  then  it  was  with  trite  enough  speech  that 
Roland  turned  to  his  friend. 

"I  brought  a  fur  coat  for  you,  old  man:  hadn't  you 
better  get  into  it?" 

"It's  a  cold  morning,"  Auburn  assented,  obeying:  and 
he  added,  as  he  turned  up  the  collar  round  his  throat,  "I 
haven 't  been  warm  for  months. ' ' 

"You're  looking  frightfully  ill." 

"I  shall  get  all  right  in  a  couple  of  days.  Where  are  we 
going?" 

"To  Yeovil.  I  thought  you  would  like  to  lunch  there 
and  get  a  wash  and  a  shave,  and  then  go  on  by  train  in 
the  afternoon." 

"Goon?" 

"To  Stanton  Mere.  Miss  Carminow  is  at  the  Trevors', 
and  they  want  you  to  ge  there  too." 

"I  suppose  I  can  do  so,  can't  I?" 

"Can?" 

"Give  me  an  hour  or  so  to  get  used  to  the  idea  of 
freedom." 

Roland 's  hand  clenched  like  a  vice  round  the  rim  of  the 
steering  wheel :  he  bit  his  lip  and  said  nothing. 

"This  ain't  a  bad  car,"  Auburn  said  presently.  "I'll 
take  her  over  by  and  by  and  get  your  license  endorsed." 

Roland  smiled.  "As  you've  done  before.  I'm  glad  it's 
a  sunny  morning." 

"Yes:  it's  morning  still.    What's  the  time?" 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  328 

"Half -past  nine." 

"Is  that  all?  An  hour  and  a  half  ago  I  was  sitting  in 
my  cell  wondering  whether  I  should  live  to  see  another 
summer.  Oh,  the  longing  for  wide  spaces,  Roland ! — You 
didn't  happen  to  bring  a  bun  with  you  by  any  chance? 
I  'm  ravenous :  you  never  get  enough  to  eat  down  there. ' ' 

Roland  dragged  out  a  basket  and  took  from  it  a  packet 
of  sandwiches  and  a  silver  flask  of  wine.  Auburn  seized 
the  former  and  began  to  eat,  as  he  had  said,  ravenously. 
' '  Here,  drink  this, ' '  Roland  said,  pouring  him  out  a  silver 
cup  of  wine,  while  the* car,  on  first  speed,  ambled  along  a 
broad  piece  of  road.  "It  won't  hurt  you,  it's  Heidsieck 
'84." 

Auburn  held  it  up  to  the  light  and  waited  a  moment, 
looking  all  round  him  at  the  wide,  white  countryside,  the 
sparkling  blue  sky,  the  sun,  still  reddened  by  fog,  darting 
down  his  bright  arrows  over  a  pale  blue  Arctic  sea.  "I 
drink  to  the  health  of  the  good  God,"  he  said  with  perfect 
gravity.  "It's  not  bad  champagne,  either.  Now  tell  me 
how  it  has  all  come  about,  for  I  am  in  the  dark,  you  know." 

' '  Do  you  want  to  hear  now  ?    It  will  be  a  shock  to  you. ' ' 

"My  good  but  unimaginative  Roland,  I'm  not  a  sufferer 
from  heart  disease ! ' ' 

"I  know,  you're  much  cooler  than  I  thought  you  would 
be.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  we  were  all  rather  nervous  about 
you,  this  coming  so  suddenly  after  such  a  long  strain :  but 
if  it  hadn't  been  kept  dark  up  to  the  last  moment  we  could 
never  have  dodged  the  reporters,  so  there's  some  virtue  in 
red-tape. ' ' 

"If  a  reporter  comes  near  me  I'll  brain  him,"  said 
Auburn.  "No,  I  won't:  I'll  give  'em  all  different  inter 
views  and  let  'em  fight  it  out.  How's  that,  Roley-Poley * " 
This  ancient  nickname,  which  dated  from  the  days  of 
"Pop.,"  made  them  both  laugh.  Small  tricks  of  speech  or 
thought  are  the  last  things  to  be  affected  by  a  great  mental 
and  moral  disturbance :  the  witty  man  will  coin  phrases  in 


324  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

an  earthquake,  the  sententious  man  will  prose  himself  into 
his  very  grave,  and  so  perhaps  Auburn 's  careless  levity  was 
the  straw  on  the  whirlpool,  the  humor  that  survives  when 
reflection  and  feeling  break  down.  He  brushed  his  hand 
across  his  forehead.  "Your  champagne's  getting  into  my 
head !  Tell  me  the  tale  before  I  'm  too  drunk  to  understand. 
Who  did  it?" 

Eoland  judged  it  wiser  not  to  cross  him.  "It  was 
Lesbia." 

"Whof" 

"Lesbia  Burnet." 

"Lesbia  Burnet!" 

"There,  I  knew  it  would  upset  you!" 

"No,  no,"  said  Auburn  impatiently.  "Don't  be  a  fool, 
Roland,  I 'm  all  right !  But  this — this  is  horrible.  Tell  me 
all  about  it." 

Roland  then  told  him  all  the  tale.  Auburn  said  nothing 
while  it  was  unfolding,  except  for  a  low  exclamation  when 
Roden's  share  in  it  came  out.  Finally  he  asked,  "What 
will  they  do  to  her?" 

"Four  or  five  years  at  the  outside,  Maine  thinks.  There's 
no  evidence  against  her  except  her  own  confession,  and  the 
circumstances  were  not  far  short  of  technical  justification." 

"I  grudge  my  freedom  at  such  a  price,  though." 

"You  need  not  say  that,  Auburn.  I'm  sure  that  un 
happy  woman  is  happier  than  she  has  been  for  years. ' ' 

Auburn  nodded.  ' '  And  Roden  Carminow,  too,  has  known 
all  along!  He's  had  rather  a  poor  time  of  it." 

"I  can't  pity  him.  He  was  not  justified  in  such  a  con 
cealment.  ' ' 

"But  he  couldn't  prove  anything." 

"Not  directly:  but  I  suspect  Lesbia  would  have  given 
herself  away  under  cross-examination.  In  any  case,  a  very 
slight  element  of  alternative  suspicion  would  have  secured 
your  acquittal.  Carminow  was  utterly  wrong." 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Auburn,  pondering.     "He  had 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  325 

given  his  word :  he  was  told  that  a  woman 's  reputation  de 
pended  on  it:  and  he  conld  not  be  sure  that  Lesbia  was 
guilty.  It  is  all  clear  enough  to  us,  but  to  him  it  must  have 
been  a  dark  problem.  What,  after  all,  was  the  evidence 
against  her?  That  she  was  out  of  her  house  at  midnight 
and  did  not  want  it  known!  Do  you  call  that  proof?  It 
does  not  even  supply  a  motive.  It  is  much  less  than  the 
evidence  against  me." 

"He  doesn't  deny  that  he  felt  convinced  of  Lesbia 's 
guilt.  He  went  to  her  after  the  trial  and  had  it  out  with 
her  face  to  face." 

"And  she  denied  it,  I'll  be  sworn:  I  know  Lesbia." 

"Yes,  she  did:  but  he  can't  pretend  that  he  believed 
her." 

' '  I  dare  say :  but  he  had  no  right  to  break  his  word  and 
risk  a  woman 's  name,  on  the  strength  of  a  mere  intuition. ' ' 

' '  Sophistry,  Auburn !  You  defend  him  because  you  like 
him.  He  knew  Lesbia  had  done  it,  and  he  ought  to  have 
spoken  out.  Better  break  the  letter  of  truth  than  the  spirit : 
and  so  I  told  him." 

"What,  have  you  been  down  on  him?  0  righteous 
wrath!  I  wish  I'd  heard  the  interview,  it  was  probably 
funny.  What  did  you  say  ? ' ' 

Roland's  mouth  was  set,  hard  and  angry.  "I  gave  him 
my  opinion  of  fanatics  who  save  their  own  souls  at  other 
men's  expense." 

"But  think,"  said  Auburn,  "what  a  devil-ridden  life  the 
man  must  have  led  all  these  four  years!" 

"You  may  forgive  him:  you've  so  much  to  forgive." 

"I  see  both  sides.  You  wouldn't  have  had  him  lie  to 
save  me:  then  why  should  he  break  a  promise?" 

"A  promise  so  made  is  invalid." 

"Well,  well,"  said  Auburn  philosophically,  "it's  a  point 
on  which  probably  no  two  people  would  ever  agree,  for  it 
turns  on  the  question,  not  of  facts,  but  of  taste.  You'll  be 
surprised  to  reflect,  my  good  Puritan,  that  you're  on  the 


826  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

side  of  the  Jesuits— they  hold  that  the  end  justifies  the 
means.  For  me  and  Roddy,  I  suspect  we've  got  Paul  of 
Tarsus  to  back  us  up:  he  was  one  of  those  who  see  the 
infinite  unimportance  of  human  happiness." 

Towards  noon  they  ran  into  Yeovil,  and  drew  up  before 
a  quiet  inn  where  Roland  had  already  engaged  rooms.  So 
secretly  and  swiftly  had  Auburn's  release  been  effected 
that  the  journalists  were  not  even  now  on  his  track,  and 
they  were  able  to  lunch  together  undisturbed.  Auburn 
tried  to  read  the  paper  over  his  mayonnaise  and  cucumber, 
but  threw  it  down  with  an  impatient  sigh.  * '  It 's  all  Greek 
to  me,"  he  said.  "Who's  running  Crete  now,  and  what  are 
taxies?"  Later,  on  their  way  to  the  station  (he  had  ex 
pressed  a  wish  to  go  on  foot),  Roland  was  startled  to  find 
the  seasoned  Londoner  reduced  to  a  babe's  nervousness  in 
the  moderate  traffic  of  a  provincial  town.  Auburn  con 
cealed  it  as  long  as  he  could,  but  between  a  dogcart,  two 
bicycles,  and  a  motor  cycle,  his  nerve  gave  way  altogether, 
and  he  clutched  at  Roland's  arm.  People  stared  after  the 
tall  man  with  the  ill-cut  clothes  and  the  cropped  head,  who 
had  so  nearly  got  himself  run  over.  Soon,  however,  they 
were  locked  into  a  reserved  carriage  and  whirling  towards 
the  east.  The  white  country  fleeted  by,  and  Auburn  sat  at 
the  window  looking  out.  Roland,  sitting  opposite  and  affect 
ing  to  read,  wondered  what  thoughts  were  passing  behind 
the  set,  hard  features,  for  Auburn's  face  had  lost  its  gay 
mobility.  That  he  was  thin  and  pale  marked  far  less 
vividly  the  distinction  between  free  man  and  convict  than 
this  change  from  animation  to  stillness.  At  length,  turning 
round,  he  met  Roland's  anxious  tender  eyes,  and  frowned 
impatiently. 

"Don't  stare  at  me  as  if  I  were  a  wild  beast,  man!" 

"I  was  only  wondering  how  you  contrived  to  live  through 
those  years." 

Auburn  stretched  out  his  hand  and  laid  one  finger  on  a 
scar  that  seamed  his  wrist.  "I  got  that  in  the  stone  quar- 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  327 

ries  at  Princetown.    It  won't  wear  away  in  a  day,  will  it  ?" 

"No,  nor  in  a  lifetime." 

"Other  scars  cut  deeper  than  that.  Yet  they're  only 
flesh  wounds  after  all.  I  dare  say  it  will  be  a  week  or  so 
before  I  make  a  pun :  but  you  needn  't  look  at  me  as  if  I  'd 
been  bitten  by  a  mad  dog,  and  you  were  expecting  rabies 
to  develop  at  any  moment ! ' ' 

"You  know,  old  boy,  I  haven't  the  least  idea  what  you 
mean." 

"I'm  not  very  clear  myself.  I  believe  I  was  fishing  to 

know  whether Look  here,  I  want  you  to  tell  me  truth. 

Am  I  much  changed  ? ' ' 

"You've  lost  some  of  your  beauty-looks." 

"Confound  you  for  a  fool!    Do  I  look  like  a  convict?" 

"Your  hair  does.    What  do  you  mean,  Auburn?" 

"Here's  what  I  mean,  in  plain  English.  Do  I  look — as 
if — the — the  degradation — the — oh  God!  you  don't  know 
what  I  mean."  He  stopped,  deliberately  crushing  down 
the  plain  truths  that  rose  to  his  lips.  "Wait:  don't  touch 
me.  Why  do  you  look  at  me  as  though  I  were  a  wild  beast  ? 
I  don't  feel  much  changed :  but  one  can't  judge  oneself.  Is 
there  any  change  in  me  that  people — a  woman — that  she 
would  shrink  from  ? ' ' 

"I  think  I'll  leave  her  to  answer  that." 

"Oh,  she's  loyal:  she'd  hold  on  like  grim  death,  if  it 
were  like  death  to  hold  on.  But  I've  been  among  such 
things — Brutes  and  devils !  Ought  I  to  bring  the  contact 
with  such  things  into  her  life? — I'm  not  exaggerating. 
Those  nights!  I've  never  been  a  saint,  and  you're  not  a 
child:  but  I  could  not  own  to  you  one  tenth  part  of  the 
things  I  thought  of,  the  black  rottenness  of  one's  mind 
through  those  deathly  nights  at  Portland.  One  could  only 
curse  God  and  die.  No,  I  can 't  make  you  see  it,  I  suppose. 
Look  here:  if  I  had  spent  these  last  months  in  ordinary 
low  sensuality,  in  drunkenness  and  riotous  living,  you 
would  think  that  changed  the  case,  wouldn  't  you  ?  Say  she 


328  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

were  your  sister — you  wouldn't  hand  her  over  to  a  vicious 
man?" 

"But  you're  not  vicious,  and  you  never  were." 

* '  Oh !  you  're  no  good. ' ' 

He  leaned  back  and  said  no  more,  while  Roland,  anxious 
and  perplexed,  wondered  what  it  was  all  about.  Celt 
though  he  was,  Roland  was  incapable  of  following  the 
erratic  movements  of  Auburn's  ill-regulated  brain,  which 
dragged  him  down  to  the  level  of  the  lowest  brute  in  Port 
land,  or  up  to  those  heights  of  the  fanatic  and  fantastic 
where  a  man  may  break  his  own  life  on  the  rack  of  the 
ideal.  Roland's  homely  morality  knew  not  how  to  deal  with 
sins  of  the  imagination.  Love  sometimes  takes  the  place  of 
tact,  however,  and  the  loyal  comrade  glanced  at  his  watch. 

"Half -past  four:  we're  punctual.  The  train  gets  to 
Stanton  Mere  at  five-fourteen,  and  Grace  Trevor's  to  meet 
us  at  the  station,  so  we  shall  get  to  the  Hall  in  easy  time 
for  you  to  have  it  out  with  Miss  Carminow  before  dinner. 
They  don't  dine  till  eight  in  the  winter,  and  you're  to  be 
excused  from  dressing  if  you  don't  want  to.  You'll  find 
Piers  ready  to  valet  you,  though :  he  threw  up  his  place  at 
a  week's  notice  to  be  ready  when  you  came  out,  so  the 
Trevors  said  they'd  put  him  up.  The  Trevors  have  been 
awfully  nice  to  Miss  Carminow.  I  was  talking  to  her  yes 
terday  in  the  library — you  remember  what  a  jolly  room  it 
is?  She  sat  on  the  rug  in  the  firelight  and  made  me  tell 
her  details  of  our  prospective  journey  to-day.  She's  pret 
tier  than  ever,  you  know :  you  should  have  seen  her  with  the 
light  on  her  hair.  After  all,  though,  you  will  see  her  in 
three-quarters  of  an  hour  or  so  .  .  ." 

Life  began  to  grow  familiar,  habit  to  spin  its  webs  of 
merciful  oblivion  over  Auburn  as  he  listened. 

The  train  ran  into  Stanton  Mere  by  the  new  loop-line  at 
a  quarter-past  five.  They  stepped  out  into  the  darkness 
of  a  frosty  winter's  night,  spangled  with  stars,  which 


burned  and  twinkled  in  the  great  arch  of  heaven.  Beyond 
the  gas-lamps  of  the  little  station  stretched  away  the  milder 
illumination  of  unbroken  fields  of  snow.  As  they  stood  on 
the  platform,  a  figure  in  a  short  tweed  skirt,  furs,  and  big 
boots  came  up,  holding  out  a  furred  hand. 

' '  Oh,  here  you  are !  Never  mind  the  luggage,  Brown  will 
see  to  it.  How  d'ye  do,  Mr.  Auburn?  Hurry  up,  please, 
the  mare 's  fresh  to-night. ' ' 

Grace  led  the  way  into  the  station  yard,  where  Brown 
stood  holding  the  chestnut  mare,  his  red  impassive  face  and 
her  cloudy  breath  lit  by  the  glare  of  the  lamps  in  the  dog 
cart.  "You  behind,  Mr.  Carew,"  sang  out  Grace,  spring 
ing  to  the  box-seat.  "Will  you  sit  by  me,  Mr.  Auburn? — 
One  portmanteau  and  a  bag,  Brown.  All  right!" 

Brown  let  go  the  mare,  and  they  dashed  out  over  the 
crisp,  frozen  snow.  Grace  was  a  first-rate  whip,  but  the 
chestnut  taxed  her  wrists  and  gave  her  little  chance  of 
talking.  Apparently  she  was  not  otherwise  embarrassed. 
Once  or  twice  she  threw  a  word  to  Auburn,  or  over  her 
shoulder  to  Eoland.  * '  You  're  looking  thin, ' '  she  said,  flash 
ing  her  keen  eyes  over  Auburn's  face  as  they  whirled  past 
the  blazing  windows  of  a  public-house.  "You  haven't  been 
seedy,  have  you  ? ' ' 

"Rather  not!" 

"I  expect  they  don't  give  you  enough  to  eat.  I  say,  I 
hope  you  like  boiled  chicken?  Dodo  said  you  did,  and  I 
thought  it  had  better  be  something  light  and  digestible." 

"Awfully  kind  of  you,  I'm  sure,"  said  Auburn  politely. 
"It  sounds  ambrosial." 

"I  didn't  want  to  make  you "  Grace  began,  but  a 

caprice  of  the  mare  diverted  her  attention,  and  the  rest  of 
the  sentence  was  lost.  "I  wouldn't  let  Dodo  meet  you  on 
the  platform.  She  rather  wanted  to,  but  it's  so  beastly 
public.  What  are  you  laughing  at?" 

"Nothing,  except  the  way  you  haven't  changed.  My 
dear  Grace,  you'll  certainly  have  the  gatepost  down!" 


330  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

They  were  at  the  gate  of  Trevor  Hall,  and  the  mare 
smelled  her  stable.  Her  dash  into  the  avenue  grazed  the 
near  wheel,  and  nearly  threw  Roland  into  the  road.  Grace 
perhaps  was  not  so  cool,  nor  her  hand  so  steady,  as  she 
pretended. 

"Let  me  take  the  reins,"  Auburn  demanded:  "you  can't 
hold  her,  she's  bolting." 

"Yes,  I  can,"  Grace  retorted  defiantly.  Meanwhile  the 
mare  flew  on  up  the  avenue.  Their  approach  was  heard, 
for  the  big  doors  burst  open  as  they  drew  up,  and  the 
figures  of  Sir  George  and  his  wife  appeared  silhouetted 
against  a  brilliant  interior.  Sir  George  came  down  the  steps 
to  help  his  daughter  out,  while  a  footman  ran  to  the  mare's 
head. 

"Ha,  Gracie!  got  'em  all  right?  That's  good.  How 
d'ye  do,  Sir  Charles?  I'm  very  glad  indeed  to  see  you." 
He  gave  Auburn  a  firm  and  steady  hand-clasp,  then  turned 
to  Roland,  while  Auburn  stumbled  forward,  half  dazzled 
by  the  glare  after  such  long  darkness.  Next  Lady  Trevor 
held  out  both  hands  to  the  wanderer.  Something  in  his  face 
as  he  stood  on  the  threshold  touched  her  very  heart:  she 
drew  him  down  to  her  and  kissed  him. 

"Dear,  dear  boy,"  she  said,  as  if  she  had  been  his 
mother,  "my  poor  Charles,  how  worn  you  look!  Never 
mind,  all's  well  that  ends  well." 

Auburn  could  not  trust  himself  to  answer.  She  patted 
his  shoulder  once  or  twice  with  a  soft,  soothing  touch. 

"There,  there !  I  mustn't  keep  you  now,  my  dear.  Dodo 
is  in  the  library,  and  of  course  you  want  to  go  to  her." 

She  held  open  the  door  of  the  big,  shadowy,  firelit  room 
for  him  to  go  in.  By  the  time  Roland  Carew  and  Grace 
had  extricated  themselves  from  their  rugs  and  were  in  the 
hall,  it  was  closed  again,  and  Lady  Trevor  was  unaffectedly 
drying  her  eyes  with  a  lace  pocket-handkerchief. 

"Is  Charles  with  Dodo?"  Grace  asked  in  her  most  non 
chalant  way  as  she  pulled  off  her  gloves. 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  331 

"Yes,  darling.  I  couldn't  bear  to  keep  him  from  her  for 
a  second.  Poor  boy,  he  was  nearly  crying,  I  think. ' ' 

Grace  stood  defiant  in  the  light  of  the  hall  lamps.  Tears 
welled  up  into  her  eyes  and  brimmed  them:  her  breast 
shook  with  a  sudden  uncontrollable  sob.  Lady  Trevor  was 
too  wise  to  be  sympathetic,  and  contented  herself  with  tak 
ing  Roland  away :  but  Roden  was  less  wise. 

"I  say,  is  everybody  in  tears?"  he  inquired,  strolling 
forward  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets.  ' '  Here 's  a  gay  wel 
come  !  What 's  the  matter,  Gracie  ? ' ' 

"Nothing,"  said  Grace  crossly.  "I  always  cry  at  a 
wedding. ' ' 

"You'll  weep  profusely  at  your  own.  May  I  be  there 
to  see!"  was  Roden 's  cheerful  aspiration.  "I  say, 
shouldn't  you  like  to  peep  through  the  keyhole?" 

"No,  I  shouldn't." 

Roden  put  up  his  eyebrows.  "Don't  be  captious!  Are 
your  principles  opposed  to  kissing?  I've  heard  it's  nice." 

"I'm  going  to  dress  for  dinner." 

Grace  turned  on  her  heel  and  went  off,  while  Roden  won 
dered  why  she  was  so  cross.  Ultimately  he  set  it  down  to 
the  effect  of  emotion  on  the  ill-balanced  feminine  tempera 
ment.  "She's  a  good  sort — Gracie,"  he  reflected.  "I'm 
surprised  she  hasn't  married.  She's  twenty-seven,  and 
looks  every  day  of  it."  He  glanced  at  the  closed  door  of 
the  library,  and  Grace  and  her  whimsicalities  vanished 
from  his  mind.  "I  wonder  if  Auburn  will  deign  to  speak 
to  me.  He  must  hate  me  pretty  cordially — like  that  long- 
legged,  stiff-necked  descendant  of  Balaam's  ass,  Roland 
Carew.  Four  years  in  a  convict  prison,  and  eighteen  days 
in  a  condemned  cell — and  he  knows  I  could  have  saved  him 
by  a  word!  It's  so  incredibly,  fantastically  disproportion 
ate  :  I  don't  wonder  Dodo  casts  me  off.  Yet,  in  God's  name, 
if  it  had  to  be  done  over  again  to-morrow,  I'd  do  it.  ... 
But  I  doubt  I'm  not  the  most  popular  member  of  the 
Canninow  family  at  present." 


332  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

Late  that  night,  when  Roden  was  in  bed  and  trying  to  get 
to  sleep,  there  came  a  soft  tap  on  his  door  and  he  heard 
some  one  enter  the  room.  "Who's  there?" 

"Me." 

Roden  drew  in  his  breath  sharply.  "What  on  earth  do 
you  want,  Dodo  ? ' ' 

She  felt  her  way  to  the  bed  and  sat  down  on  the  foot  of 
it.  "I  say,"  she  said,  after  a  momentary  pause,  "we're 
going  to  have  a  swagger  wedding." 

"White  satin  and  orange  blossoms?" 

"Well,  I'm  not  going  to  be  married  in  sackcloth  and 
ashes." 

' '  Too  reminiscent  of  the  broad  arrow — eh  ? ' ' 

Dodo  wriggled.    "Don't  be  a  pig.    I  say." 

"I  know  you  do.  I  wish  you  wouldn't.  It's  nearly 
three  o'clock." 

"No,  don't  be  a  pig,  Roddy." 

"Well,  what  is  it!" 

' '  Oh  well :  he  says  you  were  right,  and  I  believe  you  were 
from  your  own  point  of  view,  though  not  from  mine." 

"That's  very  forgiving  of  you  both,"  said  Roden  dryly. 
"I  suppose  you  feel  you  can  afford  to  be  generous." 

"Don't  be  rancorous,  there's  a  dear  boy." 

"Well "  said  Roden,  yielding.  Rancor  was,  in  truth, 

an  emotion  not  foreign  to  his  nature,  and  Dodo  had 
wounded  his  very  deeply,  but  he  loved  her  better  than  any 
thing  else  in  the  world,  and  could  understand  her  love  for 
Auburn,  and  the  elemental  passion  which  the  thought  of  so 
intolerable  a  wrong  had  fired  in  her.  "Of  course  women 
never  do  appreciate  a  point  of  honor.  One  can't  expect  it 
of  their  limited  souls." 

' '  Oh  no — all  right, ' '  assented  Dodo.  "Anything  you  like, 
only  you're  to  forgive  me.  We've  all  suffered  so  fright 
fully  over  this  business,  I  do  want  to  cry  quits:  I'm  tired 
of  pain." 

"None  of  us  comes  out  of  it  unscarred, ' '  said  Roden.    ' ' I 


AN    ORDEAL   OF   HONOR  338 

dare  say  we  all  feel,  like  the  cook  in  Cwndide,  that  our  scar 
is  the  worst." 

"I  know:  that's  what  Grace  says." 

"What  does  Grace  say?" 

"That  you  had  the  hardest  time  of  the  lot  of  us." 

"The  dickens  she  does!  Sensible  girl,  Gracie — shrewd 
eye  for  character.  I  wish  you'd  go  to  bed." 

"All  right,  I  will,"  said  Dodo,  getting  down.  But  when 
she  was  halfway  to  the  door  she  suddenly  came  back  and 
hugged  him.  ' '  Oh,  Eoden,  I  could  shake  you !  what  a  blind 
idiot  you  are !  But  I  love  you  all  the  same. ' ' 

"I'll  be  shot  if  I  know  what  this  child  means!"  said 
Eoden. 


XXXII. 

EVENING  was  coining  down  over  the  grassy  ledges  of 
the  Plain :  a  warm  March  evening,  one  of  those  windy 
lavender  twilights  that  set  the  sap  running  in  branch  and 
bud.  Sitting  on  a  heap  of  stones,  Dodo  looked  out  over  the 
fall  of  the  open  country  between  the  grey  headlands,  and 
watched  the  lamps  lighting  in  the  homes  of  men  below. 

She  knew  her  land  so  well  that  she  could  give  the  name 
to  many  a  lamplit  home.  The  Trevors '  house  she  could  not 
see,  it  lay  too  immediately  below  her:  but  the  Vicarage 
lights  were  plain,  and  one  of  them  marked  the  gable  of  her 
own  old  room.  Much  water  had  flowed  under  the  bridge 
since  Dodo  had  last  slept  within  those  walls.  Ah,  sunlit 
days,  quiet  and  careless  nights!  Much  farther  off,  on  the 
ridge  of  a  hill,  sparkled  the  casements  of  the  Chantry 
Farm,  Bernard's  place,  where  Auburn,  a  week  since,  had 
taken  up  his  lodging.  This  was  the  last  evening  of  Dodo's 
unmarried  life. 

"I  am  going  to  be  married  to-morrow,"  she  said  to  her 
self,  and  she  drew  off  her  glove  and  looked  at  her  small 
hand,  on  which  Auburn's  great  emerald  flashed  alone,  for 
she  had  not  allowed  him  to  give  her  other  jewels.  Her  grey 
half -mourning  dress  was  shabby  after  a  winter's  wear,  she 
had  pulled  off  her  astrakhan  cap,  and  the  wind  was  blowing 
through  her  fair,  loosened  hair :  she  looked  less  than  twenty- 
two,  absurdly  childish  and  immature.  So  indeed  thought 
Auburn,  who  had  been  dispatched  to  find  her,  and  mounted 
the  steep  hill  path  whistling  like  a  blackbird  till  he  came  in 
sight  of  her,  when  his  tune  fell  silent.  He  threw  himself  on 
the  stunted  turf  at  her  feet,  looking  up  at  her  with  keen, 

334 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  335 

merry  eyes.  "What  are  you  doing  here  all  alone?  Grace 
sent  me  to  bring  you  down  to  dinner. ' ' 

"I  was  thinking." 

"What  about — me?"  Dodo  gave  him  a  demure  smile. 
"You  little  schoolgirl!  Why  are  you  looking  sixteen  to 
night,  Dodo?  It's  not  decent;  a  man  mayn't  marry  his 
granddaughter."  She  touched  his  cheek  with  her  gloved 
forefinger.  "That's  all  very  fine,  but  I  want  to  know  what 
mischief  you  were  hatching.  Come,  confess !  am  I  not  your 
lord  and  master?" 

"Not  till  to-morrow,"  Dodo  pointed  out.  "After  that 
I  shall  do  everything  you  tell  me,  you  may  be  sure,  darling. 
You  are  quite  sure,  aren't  you?" 

' '  Oh,  quite, ' '  said  Auburn,  with  a  fleeting  grimace. 
"No,  my  love,  I  entertain  no  delusions  on  that  score:  I  am 
resigned  to  your  wearing  the  br — I  mean,  I  recognize  that 
the  ideal  marriage  state  is  one  of  mutual  independence. 
But  you  needn't  ride  me  on  the  curb."  He  put  up  his 
own  hand  over  hers,  and  drew  it  to  his  lips.  "I  want  to 
know  what  you  were  thinking  about  when  I  came  up." 

* '  I  was  thinking  that  I  shall  probably  never  wear  darned 
gloves  again." 

"Dear  me!    What  a  prof ound  reflection !    But  why?" 

"Because  I  shall  have  to  be  Lady  Auburn,  with  several 
thousands  a  year  and  a  duty  to  my  position.  Oh,  you  may 
laugh,  but  it's  serious!  Roland  was  preaching  to  me  last 
night.  He  wants  you  to  stand  for  Parliament." 

"Wants  me  to  stand  for  Parliament — me!  Bless  the 
man!  why,  what  does  he  suppose  I  know  about  politics?" 

"Nothing.    He  wants  me  to  coach  you." 

"I'll  clout  his  head  for  him!"  said  Auburn,  resentful. 
"Why,  what  do  you  know  about  politics?  a  baby  of 
fifteen!" 

"A  good  deal :  and  I  agree  with  Roland.  I  dare  say  you 
could  get  in  if  you  tried  You  haven't  any  principles,  and 
Roland  says  you  can  speak.  He  wants  you  to  rent  a  coun- 


386  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

try  house,  and  become  a  model  landlord.  You  won 't,  but  I 
shall  be  a  model  landlady,  and  no  one  will  know  the 
difference." 

"Much  obliged!  Did  you  settle  whether  I  was  to  be  a 
Tory  or  a  Labor  member?" 

"Not  a  Labor  member:  one  must  study  vraisemblance. 
I  said  a  Tory,  because  you  and  Roland  could  always  pair 
when  you  wanted  to  get  off:  but  he  said  he  thought  if  you 
were  anything  you  were  a  Liberal.  Seriously,  Charles, 
you've  lived  a  shamefully  idle  life  up  till  now.  You  ought 
to  do  something."  Auburn  was  silent,  but  looked  restive. 
"We  can't  wander  about  Europe  for  ever,  and  politics  is 
great  fun :  you  would  like  it  if  you  once  took  it  up." 

"What  am  I  to  take  up — prison  reform?"  Dodo  did  not 
answer,  but  a  drawn  look  came  suddenly  about  her  mouth. 
"There,  I  am  a  brute!  My  darling,  I'll  do  anything  you 
like.  Command  me,  you  and  Roland  between  you :  if  you  '11 
write  my  speeches,  I'll  get  'em  up."  His  shrewd  eyes 
scanned  her,  dissatisfied.  "Still  not  happy?  What's 
wrong,  dearest?" 

"You  are,  I  think." 

"Why,  you're  hard  to  content!  What  more  can  I  do? 
Haven't  I  promised  to  obey  orders  when  you're  pleased  to 
issue  them?" 

"Did  I  ever  ask  you  to  obey  orders?" 

"Don't  know,  I'm  sure:  you  issue  them  pretty  fre 
quently.  What  is  it,  then— do  you  want  me  to  take  it  on 
myself?" 

"I  want  you  to  do  as  you  like,"  Dodo  answered  warily. 

"And  I  like  to  do  as  you  tell  me." 

"But  I'd  rather " 

"  Ah !  but  we  can't  have  all  we  want  in  this  life." 

There  was  silence  for  a  few  moments — Dodo  picking  a 
bent  of  grass  to  pieces,  Auburn  turning  his  face  towards 
the  darkening  west. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  you  want,"  he  said  at  length,  wheel- 


AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR  337 

ing  round  on  her  so  abruptly  that  she  dropped  the  broken 
stem.  ' '  You  want  Lesbia  out  of  prison,  and  Jeannie  out  of 
her  grave,  and  Roden  to  marry  Grace,  and  that  bit  of  grass 
to  be  growing  on  its  stalk  again,  and  these  four  years  to  be 
wiped  out  as  though  they'd  never  been.  Eh?  You  won't 
have  your  wish,  my  love." 

"Shan't  I?" 

"Lesbia  won't  live  to  come  out  of  prison,  Jeannie 's  dead 
and  done  for,  Roden  won't  marry  Grace  if  he  lives  to  be  a 
hundred,  and  I " 

"And  you,  Charles?" 

"I — oh,  I  shall  be  charmed  to  go  into  politics,  if  you'll 
fix  things  up  with  the  wire-pullers." 

"You  mean " 

"I  mean  that  I  love  you,"  said  Auburn  passionately. 
".  .  .  oh,  I'll  do  my  best,  Dodo,  I  swear  to  you  I  will!" 

There  came  back  to  Dodo's  mind  the  day,  less  than  twelve 
months  ago,  when  she  had  first  set  eyes  on  Princetown 
Prison.  Auburn's  broken  words,  and  still  more  his  look, 
woke  in  her  the  same  poignant,  irrevocable  sorrow,  the  very 
anguish  that  had  ended  then  in  tears :  but  there  was  no  time 
for  tears  now.  Almost  without  perceptible  pause  she  bent 
over  him,  smiling,  and  touched  his  lips  with  her  lips. 
"Dear  darling,  I'm  sorry.  I  spoke  too  soon.  We'll  talk 
about  it  again  when  you've  had  six  months  on  the 
Mediterranean." 

' '  It  won 't  make  any  difference. ' ' 

"Won't  it?  Then  I'll  write  your  speeches  and  fix  up 
the  wire-pullers  for  you.  It  won't  be  bad  fun  when  it 
comes  to  the  point:  there's  nothing  you'd  like  better  than 
a  contested  election." 

"And  if  I  do  get  in,  what  am  I  to  do?  It  isn't  even  a 
respectable  career !  I  shall  never  make  a  good  party  man, 
and  I've  no  fad  of  my  own." 

"You  might  do  worse  than  what  you  said." 

"Eh?" 


338  AN    ORDEAL    OF    HONOR 

"Prison  reform." 

"I'd  sooner  be  flayed  alive." 

Dodo  smiled.    ' '  You  wouldn  't  care  a  snap  of  the  fingers. ' ' 

"No!  do  you  think  so?"  said  Auburn,  astonished.  "I'm 
not  sure  you're  not  right,  it  would  be  so  very  transpontine. 
Expert  opinion  with  a  vengeance !  It's  in  the  air,  too:  one 
really  might  have  a  chance  of  being  useful.  Heaven  knows 
there's  enough  wants  doing — I  should  die  happy  if  I 
thought  I'd  helped  to  save  a  few  poor  brutes  from  that 
initial  solitary  confinement." 

"All  things  work  together  for  good,"  said  Dodo  with  a 
touch  of  cynicism. 

She  jumped  up,  tossing  her  cap  on  her  disordered  curls. 
"Br-r-!  turn  your  coat  collar  up,  it's  getting  very  chilly. 
Let's  go  down,  I  shan't  have  time  to  dress  for  dinner." 

"This  time  to-morrow  we  shall  be  on  the  sea,"  said 
Auburn.  He  stood  for  a  moment  bareheaded,  looking  out 
over  the  valley.  "All  things  work  for  good,  do  they?  Well, 
the  future  is  on  the  knees  of  the  gods :  but  as  for  the  past, 
taking  it  all  in  all,  you  and  Sir  Charles,  Provincetown  and 
to-morrow,  I'm  glad  I  came  to  Stanton  Mere." 

The  wind  had  grown  cold,  and  the  night  was  falling  fast. 
"How  misty  it  grows!"  said  Dodo.  "Give  me  your  hand, 
Charles,  I  can  hardly  see  the  path." 

THE  END 


AA    000599724    2 


(apwells 

BOOKS.     KODAKS 

OAKLAND.' CALIF. 


